The One Without
by Princess Alyra
Summary: When danger threatens the Old Religion itself, and the two parts of his destiny are at war with one another, Merlin is faced with an ultimatum: save magic, or save Arthur. "No matter what happens, magic must return."
1. Something Strange

I had this idea one day while I was out on a walk, and after essentially writing out the whole conclusion in my head like I always do, I thought, "Hey? Why not?" I've already finished one WIP, so I might as well let myself start a new one. And speaking of my finished WIP - _Fore and Hindsight _- I think that once I can work out where the hell I want the sequel to start, I can juggle that with this. I'm scaring myself a little by saying that. :P I shall try! I wasn't going to post this until a had a couple more chapters done, but... it seems I can't motivate myself unless I know I actually NEED to get more written. xD

Without further ado... here's where it begins. [/lame ending]

**Chapter One: Something Strange**

Only once had the Great Dragon called _him_. That was a long time ago, before Merlin knew that dragons even existed in the real world, and long before he gained the power to control them.

Therefore, he was apprehensive to learn what was so important that the dragon once again saw fit to summon him. The sound of his own name ringing in his head had woken him well past midnight. _Merlin_, the dragon had commanded. _Come to me._

He pondered the possible reasons as he snuck beyond the castle walls and to the usual clearing where dragon and Dragonlord met. It had to be something urgent, else it could have waited until morning. Then again, they were less likely to be caught in the resting hours of night.

As he drew nearer, the familiar sound of rustling wings and a huge beast shifting weight confirmed that he had arrived at the correct location. Mere steps later, the trees parted and he was standing before the Great Dragon for the first time in months.

"No offense, but I've enjoyed not having a reason to see you," said Merlin, craning his neck to stare into the molten eyes of his kin.

In his booming voice, Kilgharrah replied, "The same is true for me, young warlock, but I fear the peace Camelot has enjoyed will not last. You must prepare yourself, Merlin. The circumstances that bring me before you now will require a great deal of you, and many will suffer if you do not make the right choice."

If he wanted Merlin's full alertness, he succeeded. Kilgharrah never used his name unless he wanted to get his attention, and get it he did. "What do you mean, the right choice? What am I choosing?"

The dragon bent his long neck to bring them face to face. "It is not for me to tell you what events lie ahead. You will recognize the danger when you see it, and you will discover your part to play in due time. Listen carefully, for past incidences reveal that you often fail to follow instructions: no matter what happens, magic must return."

Startled, and also because he was uncomfortable with Kilgharrah's burning gaze so close, Merlin took a step back. "Is it... is it time?" A flutter of fear with butterfly wings erupted in his stomach. A lump worked its way into his drying throat. "Is Arthur to be king now?"

Kilgharrah did not answer and first, and when he did, it was suspiciously not much of an answer at all. "It is for you to decide the fate of Albion, young warlock. You must not let the Old Religion fall. Its survival depends on you."

On that note, he took flight, leaving Merlin alone and even less sure of the situation than he had been before their conversation took place.

* * *

><p>"You're quite sure this wasn't a dream, Merlin?" inquired Gaius, peering at him over a vial of something green and bubbling. Merlin had woken up unsure why he was so groggy, until he remembered his venture into the Darkling Woods. He recounted the whole experience to Gaius, who let him speak without interruption.<p>

"Don't," pleaded Merlin, running a hand through hair that was already sticking up in all directions. It was getting long again, something he had come to dislike. Since moving to Camelot, he found it best to keep his hair cut short, since long hair was too convenient to rip out when frustrated, or when being manhandled by bandits and the like. "I'm tired, I don't know what's going on, and there is no way my mind hates me enough to come up with a dream that could do that to me. The dragon was there, Gaius."

The physician nodded, satisfied. "I believe you. The question is, if the dragon's fears are urgent enough that he flew all this way to warn you, why did he not say anything more substantial."

"Because he likes to drive me mad," said Merlin wearily. "You would think he has to be straight with me when I want him to, since I'm a Dragonlord and all. But no, it's all riddles and vague nonsense. He didn't tell me anything that I don't already know, other than that something bad is apparently going to happen soon. But something bad is _always _happening in Camelot."

"Indeed," commented Gaius, frowning in thought. "He told you that magic must return. Is that not what he said was your destiny from the beginning?"

"Yes," answered Merlin, "that and protecting Arthur. Apparently he thinks I'm perfectly capable of that, since he didn't so much as mention it. Why does he suddenly think I'm going to fail the rest of it? They kind of go hand in..." A horrible thought occurred to him, and he sat up straighter. "What if he's warning me that Arthur's not going to accept magic after all? Maybe Arthur's going to find out about me, and it's going to turn him against magic altogether!"

Gaius waved a dismissive hand and placed it on Merlin's arm. "You're jumping to conclusions," he said. "As long as you're careful, Arthur won't find out about anything. Now, after you calm down and eat something, you'd best be off to work. Your destiny won't be pleased if he's late for the knighting ceremony today."

Not altogether reassured, but feeling slightly comforted that nothing was going to happen in his immediate future, Merlin smiled and stood up. "Thanks, Gaius. I'll grab something in the kitchens when I get Arthur's breakfast."

As he walked out the door, Gaius called, "Oh, and Merlin? Do be careful, won't you? Keep an eye out for anything strange."

The only thing strange Merlin found came in the form of Arthur, fully dressed except for the boots he was tugging on as Merlin walked in the door, tray in hand. "I'm not even late," he protested, setting the tray on the unmade bed sheets.

"No," Arthur agreed, helping himself to a chunk of ham. "I assumed you would be, and got ready just in case."

Indignant, but without sufficient defense, Merlin made himself useful with fetching Arthur's sword belt. "Is... is your father performing the ceremony?" he asked carefully. Talk of Uther was dangerous. Some days he carried out most of his usual duties. Other days, he lay in bed, unresponsive to Arthur or Gaius or anyone.

Arthur shook his head stiffly. "Not today," he said. Merlin tensed; on days when Uther wasn't at his best, the prince's mood left something to be desired. It was understandable, but no more enjoyable for that.

Neither one spoke after that. After finishing his breakfast in uncomfortable silence, Arthur collected his things (or rather, created a pile for Merlin to carry) and set off. It was early, but a crowd would be gathering soon anyway.

Sure enough, a number of people were already in the throne room when they arrived. The two men anticipating their knighthood were waiting outside the door anxiously. One, a broad, dark-haired man, older than the typical new recruits, paced back and forth. The other, young with hair comparable to chestnut, stood stock still against the wall, eyes careful not to move from their fixed position.

As he and Arthur passed, Merlin whispered to the man, "You're going to be a knight in ten minutes. No one would blame you for smiling."

A muscle twitched in the man's neck, but Merlin caught a glimpse of a small smile.

They waited for five minutes before beginning the ceremony. Merlin stood in his place off to the side. Gaius was absent - presumably he was with Uther, since he often stayed at the king's side throughout the majority of his bad days. Gwen, no longer serving in the royal household, joined the crowd near the front. Arthur stood in the center of the room with his hands clasped neatly on his sword, its point straight and perfectly meeting the floor.

The two men came forward, kneeling before their prince. The younger one shook slightly from either nerves or excitement, or both. Merlin pitied him, but it would all be over in a few short minutes.

His own nerves were acting up, too, for some reason. An odd sensation spread through his stomach, fleeting and the smallest bit nauseating.

"By the power vested in me," Arthur was saying, "you may rise as Sir Darius, knight of Camelot." He touched each shoulder of the older man, Darius. The applause sounded faint and distant to Merlin's ears. Even his own clapping felt numb. The ceremony suddenly seemed to have gone on far too long.

Arthur waited an age and a half for everyone to quiet down, then proceeded to repeat the same words to the other man. Did Arthur always draw out his speech in such a manner? That fluttery feeling definitely wasn't going away.

"...Rise, Sir Agravain, knight of Camelot."

The applause picked up again, louder this time, and Agravain rose to his feet, grinning. His enthusiasm even pulled a smile out of Arthur, who took in his two newest knights with a hint of pride. Perhaps his spirits wouldn't be weighed down today after all.

Of course, it had to be that moment that Merlin's knees buckled, and the ground rushed up to meet him. He didn't mind, though. He blacked out before he hit the ground.


	2. Something Interesting

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! And HOLY CRAP, has anyone else been looking at some of the released dialogue/filming shots of S4? I told myself I wouldn't look at that stuff... but I couldn't resist :P I shan't ruin it for anyone who hasn't/doesn't want to see it yet, but... Oh. My. God. It's going to be a long few months till then.

Anyway. Enjoy chapter two! Let me knows your thoughts! :D

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><p><strong>Chapter Two: Something Interesting<strong>

Things came slowly back into focus, and when they did, they weren't the same things he had seen before going unconscious. He was too disoriented to figure out where he'd been moved to, though.

"If you felt starved for attention," said a voice, "you could have just said so."

Merlin's eyes found shaggy dark hair and a familiar grin that couldn't help but be sly. "I figured this way was easier," he said, and tried to sit up. The world swam, and he decided against it. "I think I hit my head," he groaned, laying back down and reaching back to feel it. There was a hard lump.

"Well, when you collapse spontaneously like that, it's difficult for a friend to catch you in time," Gwaine pointed out. "Next time, give me a little warning, and I'll do my best."

Lancelot appeared next to Gwaine, looking far less carefree. "What happened back there?" he asked, concerned. "You were fine, and then you were prostrate."

He brought up a good point. Where had the sudden wave of nausea swept from? Certainly not from anything he'd eaten; his breakfast had consisted of the same meat, cheese, and bread he'd brought to Arthur. They came from exactly the same place.

"I must have caught an illness of some sort." Merlin frowned to himself. "Whatever it was, I feel fine now, except for my head. And we already know where _that _came from."

Lancelot helped him to sit up, this time without falling backward again. He at last identified the room as Arthur's. The prince was not present, but then, he had no real reason to be. His duty for the time being was to prepare for the night's celebration of Darius and Agravain. Merlin was grateful enough to have Gwaine and Lancelot for company.

"Why did you bring me here?" he asked.

"We figured it was less work than carrying you all the way up to Gaius's," answered Gwaine. He smirked. "Besides, best make it easier for the princess to find you. He was none too pleased to see that you'd collapsed. Tried to pass it off as annoyance that the ceremony was interrupted, but we all knew better. Stupid prat," he added.

Merlin couldn't help it; he grinned. He held himself personally responsible for the growing part of Arthur that wasn't so obsessed with propriety. Well, he'd set it in motion. Gwen had helped significantly.

"He didn't know know what to do for a moment there," Lancelot put in. "But he had to control the crowd. You frightened more than a few people, Merlin."

Not for the same reasons he had frightened his friends, Merlin knew. Those who had witnessed it probably feared a disease was making its appearance in Camelot. "It was nothing," he said. "Just a... freak coincidence, probably."

The throbbing in his head had increased with the pressure of sitting up. Merlin settled comfortably against the pillows again, hardly caring that Arthur would most likely kill him when he discovered his manservant curled up in his bed.

Soon after, Lancelot and Gwaine both left to help with preparations for the feast. At least, those were Lancelot's intentions. Merlin suspected Gwaine's were geared more toward sneaking sips of Camelot's finest mead. Merlin allowed himself to drift into a catnap.

* * *

><p>"You are so lucky to have a forgiving master who won't <em>flay <em>you for stealing his bed."

Merlin squinted his eyes open. "Don't know who that would be."

Arthur scowled, arms akimbo. "You do realize who you're talking to, right? I know we've had this conversation at least a handful of times, but I still wonder if it's really getting through to you. Is there anything I could possibly do to make it easier for you?" There was that patronizing tone again.

Pretending to consider it, Merlin replied, "You could leave me alone for a little while, that ought to do the trick."

His head spun unpleasantly as he was heaved to his feet. Arthur let go of him, sending Merlin stumbling to the left, the opposite direction of the bed. Hands pushed him back to the right, and he sat down heavily and gracelessly on the mattress.

"I do sometimes wonder how you've survived this long," said Arthur. "It's certainly not due to your ability to take care of yourself, because you've already proved those skills are abysmal. Now, if you're not on the verge of another unprompted collapse, you might consider _doing your job _and helping in the kitchens. Guinevere says they're swamped."

Somewhere in there, Merlin heard the question, _Are you okay now? _"You know me, sire. Always ready to put my health second to the betterment of royal occasions." Arthur rolled his eyes. "Do you happen to know if Gaius is still with the king?"

"I would assume so. After I convinced the whole of Camelot that the bloody _plague_ hasn't broken out again, no one thought to concern Gaius with news of your... disruption. Gwaine and Lancelot handled it well enough, I think."

There was something profoundly wrong with the idea that Arthur had just complimented Gwaine on managing a situation.

Though his head still ached, Merlin grudgingly made his way to the kitchens, where every cook in the castle worked frantically to get their job done. One maid's shriek startled him when he walked in, but it turned out to be nothing more than a spilled basket of bread rolls.

He found Lancelot compiling a stack of plates to carry out to the great hall. "You don't have to do that, you know," Merlin pointed out when he squeezed through the throng of servants to get to his friend. "It's not a knight's task to set out dishes."

"I may be a knight," Lancelot agreed, taking the towering stack into his arms, "but I'm no spoiled noble. Everyone else is busy enough."

Merlin grinned. "This is why Uther's wrong. Willingness to do manual labor, _that's _the mark of a true knight. As for me, though, I get paid for this. Sort of. Here, let me help."

Together he and Lancelot carried stacks of plates to the great hall, which now had rows of tables set up to accomodate any who wanted to take part in the feast in the knights' honor. It was a bloody bother, in Merlin's opinion, to have to set all this up again whenever Arthur decided to promote a man or two, but as Gwaine would say, at least they all got a healthy round of drinks out of it. In Gwaine's case, more than one.

The nauseous feeling from earlier returned with a vengeance and without warning. Merlin stumbled to a halt, his whole body inexplicably weak.

The plates his the ground and shattered. Merlin darted out a hand, resting it on a table to stay upright. The other hand went to his abdomen, wrapping around his middle.

From far away, he heard Lancelot's shouts, but his head was too fuzzy to comprehend them. Pieces of his vision warped and slid into each other. There was no noise except the rushing sound in his own head.

Suddenly things came back, first his hearing, then his eyesight, followed by coherent thought. He was on his knees, still clutching the table and his stomach. Lancelot crouched at his side, gripping his shoulder and saying his name over and over again. "Merlin." He sounded unsure. "Merlin?"

"I'm fine." Merlin pushed himself up shakily and surveyed the mess he'd made. "I should clean this up."

"Leave it," Lancelot told him firmly, steering Merlin out of the hall. "I'll take care of it. There are plenty of extra plates, no one will know the difference. _You _are going to get back to your room and get some rest."

Merlin attempted to duck out from under Lancelot's grip. "I'm not tired," he argued. "I feel fine, honest."

"Merlin, that was twice in _one day_. You're obviously a bit under the waether. I'm going to go finish helping with the set-up, then I'm going to find Gaius and tell him he needs to have a look at you. And you're going to be _in your room _and and at least _trying _to sleepwhen he gets there."

"I take back what I said about knighthood," Merlin complained. "It's turning you into a cross between Arthur and Gaius."

Lancelot did not reply. Merlin gave in, promising to go straight to his room and stay there. He only lied a little. As soon as he escaped Lancelot's captivity, he took a detour to the library.

He managed to bypass Geoffrey's notice on the way in, slipping past while the o,ld man bent behind his desk to look for something. He didn't need the historian looking over his shoulder today; he'd cut it close one too many times.

Besides, he didn't even know what precisely he was searching for. The dragon had given him nothing specific to work with - he rarely did - but _Gaius _always found things in books. The return of magic was prophesied, Kilgharrah said. Probably the prophecies were no more specific than what Merlin already knew, but it was worth a shot.

Any books pertaining directly to tales of Emrys (how strange, to think of long-dead authors writing books about things he had yet to do) had probably been burned a long time ago. Merlin's hopes were in philosophies and early history of Albion, on the off-chance someone mentioned legends of the Old Religion.

Considering how his luck tended to run, he figured it would be wisest to start in the back with his mini quest. The back generally housed the less-likely tolerated books - he hoped so, anyway. There was a corner room in which, if he sneaked into it, he was sure to discover had a book or two salvaged during the Purge.

Geoffrey still had no knowledge of his presence, so Merlin had no qualms about using magic for his quest. "_Tospringe_," he whispered when he reached the door in the back. The lock clicked, and he pushed his way through.

There weren't, he discovered, very many books in this room at all. The room was mostly empty but for a small workbench accompanied by a chair. It had one solitary shelf up high, which had cobwebs curled protectively around the few thick tomes. "Those would be the ones," he muttered to himself. The ones out of reach _always _were.

He dragged the chair into the corner with the shelf and clamber on. It rocked unsteadily under his feet, and he quickly pressed his hand to the wall for support.

The books were still just out of reach, even when he strained and stood on tiptoes. Knowing deep down this was not destined to end well, he bent his knees and jumped.

By pure luck, his fingers grasped one of the books. He dislodged it from its place, and it followed him down - down onto the chair, whose left back leg snapped under the sudden pressure. Merlin, the book, and now the chair continued falling.

"Ow," Merlin groaned a few moments later, twitching his wrist experimentally. Nothing seemed broken, just a bit sore. Specifically, his hip ached from landing on the spine of the book, which had consequentially snapped. It mattered little; on closer inspection, Merlin found it was nothing more than an old castle financial record.

After concluding that his wrist was okay, he reached back to feel his head. It hadn't hit the ground hard at all, but it itched something fierce. His fingers carded through his hair, then brushed something peculiar.

Startled, Merlin rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up. An insect, roughly the size of the palm of his hand and covered in bristly, angry red fur, clicked at him through its mandibles. Its eyes were black and glossy the way Cedric's had been when he was possessed by Sigan.

It tried to run away, but a flash of gold froze it in place. Merlin scooped it up in one hand, wondering briefly if he'd ever seen a creature so revolting.

He hadn't found what he had been looking for, but certainly he had stumbled across something interesting.

* * *

><p>The bug sort of invented itself. Fortunately, it also gave itself a purpose... to be revealed at a later date. :)<p> 


	3. Something Missing

Hey guys! Sorry it took a little longer than I thought to get this up. I don't like to guess when the next chapter is coming, because that never works out, but I'm going to do my best to keep them a week to two weeks apart. How you people with your millions of stories manage it...

Slight summary alteration, because when I originally wrote it, I came face to face with the Summary box and went, "...Crap."

Thank you to all my reviewers! I love feedback in all forms. :) Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Chapter Three: Something Missing<strong>

"You had the presence of mind to use your magic on the bug," pointed out Gaius skeptically, "but not to get the book?"

"You said I have a mild concussion," Merlin said defensively. "I wasn't thinking straight."

Gaius raised an eyebrow. "I said it is _possible _you sustained a mild concussion, so mild you are displaying no symptoms. It was your own idiocy that earned you the second bump on the head."

"Never mind that, have you ever seen anything like this before?"

In the light of the afternoon sun peering through the window, Gaius turned the oversized insect over in his hand. "No, I can't say I have," he said finally. "It certainly is not indigenous to this area. It bears no sign of belonging to the Old Religion, yet I would say 'tis not natural, either."

Merlin frowned. "If it isn't natural, and it isn't magical, than what else could it be?"

"I do not presume to know everything, Merlin. I could well be wrong."

The truth was, Merlin ought to have _felt _if it was magical, and he felt nothing but a strange sense of fear when he looked at the thing now sitting lifeless on Gaius's workbench. He wasn't afraid of insects; how could he be, when he grew up in Ealdor? Yet without knowing why, it made him uncomfortable to be in its presence. Maybe it was just the knowledge that that thing had been on his head.

"Lancelot is under the impression I am forcing you to rest, you know." Gaius was giving him that _look _again, like he knew Merlin wasn't going to listen to him but he was going to do his damned best to try, anyway. "I would hate to encourage dishonesty between you and the one other person besides me with whom you can be entirely open."

"Ah," said Merlin, "but I'm used to lying, so why break the trend?"

"_Mer_lin."

"You're doing what Arthur does," Merlin complained. "Why is _everybody _starting to sound like Arthur?"

Gaius considered this. "Perhaps because he is the only one who seems to know what to do with you, or at least close to it. Now, any concussion you may or may not have received is apparently gone. This means you can feel free to rest at any time." Merlin blinked innocently. "By which I mean, right now."

"Oh, fine." Merlin had to admit, he _was _the tiniest bit exhausted. A short nap couldn't hurt.

* * *

><p>"Glad you could join us." Gwaine greeted Merlin with a grin as the warlock appeared in the council room, still fighting morning bleariness. "You missed the feast. And the drinks."<p>

Merlin yawned. "Slept through it," he said tiredly. He saw Lancelot give a tiny nod of approval.

Arthur, on the other hand, who sat alone at the end of the long council table, looked considerably less approving. "You were in bed before the feast," he began dubiously, "yet you were late in getting here. _Don't _tell me you've just woken."

"All right," said Merlin, "I won't tell you."

He wouldn't have woken up at all for the meeting had Gwen not happened to have had a question for Gaius that morning. She had been very surprised to learn that Merlin was still in bed, oblivious to the Round Table meeting Arthur had called earlier.

Round Table meetings did not currently consist of a round table, though Arthur kept insisting he was working on it. The occasional gatherings were named for the members involved, all of whom had sat around the Round Table before reclaiming Camelot. Gaius was the one exception, as he had his obligations to fullfil as physician, but Merlin filled him in afterward, anyway.

"Would you care to tell us exactly why it is we're all here?" suggested Gwaine with exaggerated patience. Arthur glared at him and motioned for everyone to sit down. They slid into their unspoken but official positions - Merlin on his right, Gwen on his left, two of the knights on Gwen's side and three on Merlin's.

Leon alone seemed to have some idea of what this was about. "The disappearances in Enora," he said. "Have you learned more?"

"No," said Arthur, "at least, nothing that brings us closer to learning what happened."

"What disappearances would those be?" asked Elyan curiously. "From what I've heard about Enora, there's not much could go on to cause suspicion there."

In fact, Enora, Gaius had told Merlin, was a safe place for any druids found to be without magical power. He'd said it wasn't often a druid was born with complete ineptitude, but when it happened, it was each order's right to determine what happened to them. Some protected the child; others abandoned them. Still others took them to be raised in villages such as Enora.

According to Gaius, this was all unknown to the king. There was very little to draw attention to the place, which was what made it so ideal a hideout. Even most of the villagers were oblivious to what went on with the druids.

"No, there isn't," Arthur said, sounding troubled. "Or rather, there _wasn't_, because there is definitely something going on now. Five people have disappeared within the last week, and no one in the village seems to know why."

"Five?" Leon's tone was incredulous. "That's two more than there were yesterday morning!"

"A messenger arrived late last night," said Arthur grimly. "He said two more have gone missing, a farmer and... a little girl." His knuckles were white on the tabletop. "He also mentioned that someone from the neighboring village went out for firewood one night and never came back."

Merlin had heard nothing about any disappearances until now. From the looks on the others' faces, he knew he wasn't alone.

"And no one knows anything at all?" prodded Lancelot. "There's no connection between the ones who went missing?"

"None that anyone is aware of," confirmed Arthur. "It could be nothing. The villagers are saying it's a wild animal. But no one saw it happen, no one heard a call for help. There aren't any bodies that have been discovered so far, no blood, not even a ripped piece of cloth. They're just... gone."

He didn't say anything more, and it took a few moments for Merlin to realize what it was he must suspect. Percival beat him to it.

"You suspect magic," he said. All eyes went to him, but Percival's never left Arthur.

Arthur's brow creased, and he shifted in his chair. "I don't want to jump to conclusions," he admitted. "But... I think it's possible. Yes. That's why I wanted to talk to all of you, to see what you thought. And if it comes to it, what we're going to do about it."

Merlin couldn't help but smile a little. _We_. It was an understanding that when the eight of them gathered at this table, something was going to happen, and they were all in it together. Merlin would never get tired of hearing the word _we_ in that regard.

"Forgive me, sire, but I'm not sure there is enough to say this is magic." It was Lancelot that spoke first, and his gaze was on Merlin when he said it. Merlin broke eye contact with him and willed his friend to take a hint. When he looked back, Lancelot's attention was on Arthur again. "It could be anything. Perhaps..." He searched for a better alternative, but his silence stretched too long.

"Even if magic is involved," said Merlin when it became clear Lancelot wouldn't find anything, "that doesn't tell us anything. We still wouldn't know who, or why."

"No, but at least we could tell the people what to watch out for." Arthur rubbed his shoulder absently and sighed. In contrast to Merlin, Arthur acted like he'd hardly slept at all last night. With a messenger arriving late and bearing bad news, he probably hadn't.

Gwaine slid his chair back noisily. "It sounds like we've about covered what we know and what we can guess," he observed. "Only thing for it is to go to Enora, isn't it?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Merlin said quickly. The last thing the village needed was someone investigating too closely into their affairs. How many of the former druids still had relics from their camps? How well guarded were those items? "Shouldn't we... wait and see what happens?" He made a mental note to ask Kilgharrah if he knew anything about this.

"Like _what, _for instance?" demanded Arthur. "A sign from above? What's waiting around going to do?"

"Maybe you should stay behind, anyway, Merlin," said Lancelot. Merlin threw an indignant glance in his direction. "Since you haven't been feeling well. We don't want a repeat of yesterday when we're so far away from a decent physician-"

Arthur snorted. "You mean his fainting spell during the knighting ceremony? I think he's slept that off well enough by now-"

"I think he meant the fainting spell during set-up for the feast, actually," Gwaine piped up.

Horrified, Merlin said, _"Gwaine_." Then he turned his glare upon Lancelot. "Of all the people you could have told, it had to be _Gwaine_?"

Lancelot shrugged apologetically. "When I got more plates from the kitchens, he asked why you didn't come back with me. I didn't know what else to tell him."

Merlin wasn't the only one irked by this. Without warning, Arthur reached over and smacked Merlin in the back of the head. "What was that for?" Merlin protested loudly, rubbing the spot even though it wasn't especially sore. His skull had realized the necessity to better protect him from abuse since Arthur started throwing things at him for entertainment. Not much hurt him anymore. Except, of course, painful collisions with stone floors.

"You collapsed _again_?" Arthur barked dangerously. "And there's a reason I didn't know about this, I suppose?"

"Because I've been sleeping since it happened," Merlin pointed out. "And I don't remember it becoming mandatory to report everything that happens to me to you. In fact, I think you've advised against it more than once. And I did _not _collapse. I..."

"Gracefully rejected the idea of standing," suggested Gwaine.

Leon cleared his throat. "I agree that we should go to Enora," he said, dragging them all back on topic. "Perhaps sooner rather than later. Tomorrow at dawn?"

"A little after dawn," amended Arthur, "otherwise _Mer_lin won't be awake in time to join us."

On that note, the Round Table meeting was at its end. Gwen smiled encouragingly at Merlin on their way out the door and whispered, "He's just worried about you, that's all. And he's too stubborn to admit it the way most people do."

"Oh, I know," Merlin muttered back. "That's why I didn't want him to find out. Arthur's a terror when he's _worried_."

He'd better just hope he didn't have another incident on the way to Enora. He wasn't sure he'd survive if Arthur's protective qualities really got a chance to shine.

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><p><em>"Drakon!"<em>

His bellow reverberated through the heavens, though none but he and the Great Dragon himself heard a sound.

Merlin sat crosslegged in the dew-heavy grass. A breeze whipped his hair from his face and then back into his eyes. The sound of wind, rustling, chirps, and howls kept him company for the long hours he waited.

Eventually he must have fallen asleep where he sat, for he awoke to the intense wing-beats of the only dragon in existence. Merlin scrambled backwards with his hands, noting the minor ache in his neck fromt he way it had hung during his drowse.

It was still night, to his relief, although morning could not be far off. Kilgharrah's eyes were two spots of amber in the darkness, studying him with vague amusement. "You called," he rumbled. Merlin had to crane his neck to see the dragon's face. "It is unwise to let your guard down in such uncertain times, in such predatory places."

"Uncertain times?" Then you must have some idea why I called you." He sat up a little straighter and looked at the dragon expectantly. "Do you know of Enora?"

"The harbor for those who are of magic, but not with it," stated the dragon. "Yes, I know of it. Why do you ask, young warlock?"

"People are disappearing," said Merlin. "Five have gone missing from Enora, and one from Burich. Arthur thinks magic has something to do with it. I was wondering if... this has anything to do with what you said, last time. Is this the danger I'm supposed to recognize? Is Camelot in danger?"

He had to wait a long time for his answer. For the first time in four years, the dragon did not seem to know exactly what to say. "It is not," he said finally, shocking Merlin with the straightforward quality of those three words. Then he continued. "You seek the one who causes the disappearances, but her actions are an effect as much as they are a cause."

"Effect of what?" asked Merlin impatiently.

Again, the silence was drawn out. "I do not have the answers you seek," Kilgharrah admitted simply when Merlin demanded he respond. "I know not what unfolds now. All I know is what has already been foretold. The danger, young warlock, is such that you will have to discover for yourself. I cannot help you."

He spread his wings to leave. "You'd better stay close!" Merlin yelled, trying not to feel too disappointed or annoyed by the lack of information. "I get the feeling I'll be seeing you again soon," he muttered to himself.


	4. Somewhere with Trouble

Yes, this chapter is short. Yes, this chapter is relatively slow. But of course, this chapter is also _late, _and I figured something was better than nothing, yeah? Besides, I thought this was a decent place to end. But there's some Percy!backstory, and some other random little tidbits that aren't canon but fill in blanks that canon left open for the filling. Which of course Season 4 will decide to fill and thus make AU in this story. Ah well.

Next chapter will be longer, more eventful, and sooner. Meanwhile, go rewatch the EPIC S4 trailer and squeal inside and curse fall for being ages away (until you remember that school is also in fall.)

Oh, and apparently I left my stats page open last night when I left home. My mom took it upon herself to read some fanfic. Oh joy. At least she was nice about it. I still feel somehow violated...

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><p><strong>Chapter Four: Somewhere with Trouble<strong>

"All right back there, mate?"

Merlin's head snapped up. Gwaine was turned around in his saddle, grinning mischievously. "Yeah, I'm-" Merlin broke off with a grudging yawn. "-Fine," he finished. "Besides, if I do fall asleep, I've got Lancelot here to keep me from falling off my horse."

"Yes, well," said Lancelot, exchanging a glance with Gwaine, who Merlin swore was a terrible influence on everyone he came in contact with, "it's a _long _way to Enora. Who knows how many times a single man can hope to catch his friend?" Gwaine beamed with pride.

"I'm never letting either of you stay in the same room together," said Merlin. "Ever again."

In the end, the full Round Table had not been able to set off on the journey to Enora. Uther was still confined to his bed, which meant Arthur had a duty to stay in Camelot as regent. He had delivered the news just before the others planned to leave. "I can't leave the castle without a leader," he'd said, resigned even if he didn't like it.

Gwen had offered to stay behind with him, but in the end she had mounted her horse and ridden off with the five knights and Merlin. "Someone needs to take care of that idiot when he inevitably does something stupid," Arthur had told her with a nod toward his servant. Merlin made a face, eliciting a laugh from Gwen.

Enora lay just inside Camelot's border with Northumbria, roughly forty leagues away. It required a full day of travel, but they would arrive early enough in the night if they rode hard.

Meanwhile, Merlin had time to ponder certain things. For instance, Kilgharrah and his frustrating lack of knowledge. Merlin had a feeling the dragon knew more than he was letting on. Not that he thought Kilgharrah had _lied _when he said he couldn't answer the question - he had to adhere to a Dragonlord's demands - but there was something else he was deliberately holding back. Merlin chose not to call him out on it yet simply because he trusted Kilgharrah would tell him if and when it became necessary.

He also had time to wonder what they would find in Enora. Unlike the others, he was worried about more than just the strange disappearances; he feared what would happen if the druids' secret was discovered. Lancelot wouldn't cause trouble, and Merlin doubted Gwaine cared one way or another about magic, but the others... Leon, surely, would feel it his duty to remove the threat of sorcery from Camelot. Gwen, sweet and kind-hearted as she was, still no doubt remembered the coldness in Morgana's eyes. She would be wary, at the least.

Of course he still wanted to investigate the cause of the disappearances - after all, it was a stepping stone to learning what sort of danger was coming his way. Kilgharrah had made that much clear. All the same, he couldn't help the uneasiness disturbing his nerves with every second they drew nearer to Enora.

They came to a creek nestled between two rolling hills and stopped to water the horses. Merlin slid gratefully from his mount's back and stretched. "All the patrols and hunting trip Arthur makes me go on," he grumbled to Lancelot, "and I still don't like being on a horse all day."

Lancelot smiled sympathetically. "Percival was the same way," he said, gesturing to the large man filling his waterskin in the creek. "I'd known him hardly a month before I got your message about Morgana, but from what I gather, he hadn't really left his village before."

"Really?" Merlin supposed it shouldn't come as such a surprise. Until he left for Camelot, he'd never had cause to venture far from Ealdor, either. But with Percival's bulk, Merlin had been under the impression that he'd spent his life wrestling boars or making bets on his strength all across Albion.

"He was a carpenter," Lancelot explained. "By necessity, actually - a storm destroyed most of the homes in his village a year or so back. The families with a house left standing had to make room for all the people with nowhere else to go. Ever since, Percival and a few others have been working to replace what was lost. He hasn't had time to go anywhere on horseback."

Merlin hadn't heard a word of this before now. A new respect for the knight blossomed as he considered what it must have been like. All that stress, all that work, with the pressure of dozens of families wanting their own lives back. "And he still agreed to go with you? Has everything been rebuilt?"

"Not quite. It wasn't a small village, by any means. There are still a few families living with friends, but I don't think anyone was going to deny him the right to leave, after all he'd done. I met him while I was passing through and decided to help. I didn't exactly have anywhere else I needed to be - until, of course, I got your letter. I think he was ready to leave, to be honest. Now that most people have their homes back, there are more people who can help finish the job." He smiled ruefully. "I think his younger sister was sad to see him go, though. Percival said it was me she didn't want to leave; he insists she was sweet on me."

"You had the choice between Camelot and a girl, and you chose _us_?" Merlin grinned, and Lancelot laughed. "Come on - was she pretty?"

Lancelot's eyes grew distant. "Pretty, yes," he admitted. "Kind, too. She's a bit young, though. Maybe in a few years..." He trailed off, then threw a guilty look sideways. Merlin followed his eyes, though he guessed what he would see. Lancelot was focused on Gwen, laughing and shaking her head at Gwaine, who had a stupid grin on his face that screamed mischief.

"Maybe in a few years," Merlin agreed, pulling Lancelot back to reality.

After that, they stopped every couple of hours to rest both themselves and the horses, taking one long break past midday for a meal. Their packs were stocked with five days' worth of provisions, which gave them about three days once they reached Enora. Three days for a handful of knights and two servants to uncover a mystery an entire village couldn't solve.

"I don't understand," said Elyan when the sun had been replaced by stars and a bright full moon, and shadows fell all around them from the trees of a small wood. "Northumbria's citadel is leagues closer to Enora than Camelot's. Why did they not go to Northumbria for help, when it might have arrived sooner?"

"It may be on the border," answered Leon, nudging his gray mare to fall in step beside Elyan's, "but officially Enora is part of Camelot. Had they appealed for help in Northumbria, chances are high they would have been turned away. The king is not famed for his generosity." Leon's mouth set in a hard line.

_He doesn't know the half of if, _Merlin thought. Northumbria was King Alined's kingdom, and Merlin's last experience with the monarch proved that he had no wishes to befriend Camelot, treaty or no treaty.

"That hardly seems fair," put in Gwen, frowning. "What would Alined lose by sparing two or three knights for a few days?"

"The real question is, what would he _gain_?" pointed out Leon grimly. "To him, that is the heart of the matter. The lives of peasants from another kingdom mean nothing to him, even though it would take no effort on his part to perhaps save one or more of those lives. A small village has nothing to offer him in return for the deed."

"Arthur isn't like that," said Gwen quietly. Leon conceded with a nod. "Becoming king won't change that," she added, perhaps thinking of how Uther had denied them the right to go to Ealdor when it was in need. It didn't need saying that Uther was very much like Alined.

The trees cleared, and on the other side of them, there was a clump of small houses with badly thatched roofs, all spread haphazardly over a slightly mounded land, causing some of the buildings to sit at a tilt. Smoke still wisped into nonbeing from a fire pit or two. No one stirred outside the houses.

Leon, in the lead, brought his horse to a halt. The others followed his example, pulling up short and studying their new, temporary home.

"Enora," Merlin breathed.

And just like that, he heard a scream.


	5. Something Significant

As promised - relatively longer and sooner, and with debatably more happening. Debatably. Which, by the way, Google Chrome doesn't appear to think is a word. Microsoft Word, however, agrees with me that it is. Because it _is._

In other news, I'm going on vacation starting Monday and ending hopefully Friday but possibly the following Wednesday. I'm the kind of person who will want to curl up and die after leaving the house for the equivalent of a work week, let alone a week and a half. Even though I'll be having fun. I'll TRY to work on this some while I'm gone, and maybe other things, but, well. Who knows.

And because I always have obscenely long author's notes anyway, and because it needs doing - big thank you to all reviewers! :) And favoriters and alerters, too, and YES, Google Chrome, I am aware that those really AREN'T words. Suck it up.

Enjoy the chapter! Let me know your thoughts! :)

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><p><strong>Chapter Five: Something Significant<strong>

Merlin jolted into action, urging his mare into a gallop down the slope. Someone from behind shouted - Lancelot, he thought - and took off after him. Candle light flared to life in the windows of one of the houses, and Merlin rode right up to the door.

"Hello?" he called when he'd dismounted and knocked. His only answer was a small sob. Hesitantly he pushed open the door, bracing himself for what he might find. "Hello?" he repeated.

A hand tried to hold him back; the others had caught up with him. "You need to be more careful!" Lancelot breathed in his ear. Merlin shrugged off the hand and stepped inside.

Immediately the front of Merlin's tunic was seized, and he was wrenched forward so forcefully it nearly sent him sprawling. Merlin sucked in a gulp of air and looked into the hysterical face of a young woman_. "Where is he_?"she shrieked, dragging him further inside. "_What did you do to my son_?"

"Wha-" Merlin gasped, trying to pull himself free. She merely clung tighter.

"My son!" she all but snarled through her tears. "He's gone! He's-" And jut as suddenly as she'd grabbed him, she let go, dissolving further into sobs that shook her whole body. Merlin stumbled away, breathing deeply to still the frantic pounding against his ribcage.

Tentatively, after a moment of observing her in silence, he laid a hand feather-light on her shoulder. "What happened?" he asked softly. He tried not to notice that in the corner of his eye, just outside the door, Gwaine's and Leon's swords were drawn.

The woman looked at him with over-bright, red-rimmed eyes. "M-my son," she repeated. "I thought I h-heard something, and when I got up to check, he was just... gone!"

Lancelot had followed Merlin inside. "Like all the others," he said. She nodded miserably. "We're from Camelot, miss. We have come to help. We'll find out what happened to your son." He didn't dare promised they'd get him back, Merlin noticed.

"I-I'm sorry," the woman said to Merlin, wiping at her eyes, which was useless since the tears kept falling. She tried to smile. "I don't know what I was thinking. Whoever took my son wouldn't be likely to knock on my door a moment later, would he? I m-must have frightened you."

"Don't worry about it." He offered his best encouraging grin. "Lancelot was telling the truth; we'll do everything we can to find your son, and everyone else who's gone missing."

"Thank you," she said sincerely. She appeared to have calmed down, though Merlin suspected it was only because she was tired. It was better than the screaming. "I'd heard Bede took a message to the king, but no one dared hope..." She stopped abruptly, as though realizing her words could be considered treasonous in present company. "I'm Theda," she said instead, proffering her left hand to shake. Merlin took it and introduced himself and the others.

"Prince Arthur sends his regards," added Sir Leon, "and wishes to apologize for being unable to come in person."

Theda's second attempt at smiling was more successful. "Tell his lordship from me that he has done more than enough," she bade with a small, polite curtsey.

Merlin undid his neckerchief and held it out to her. Theda dabbed what remained of the tears on her cheeks and returned the cloth to him with a murmured, "Thank you."

They left her to her rest, though with the night she was having, Merlin doubted she would find sleep any time soon. He'd had his share of worrying about people he cared for, and the sleepless nights that accompanied that feeling.

While the others set up camp just outside the village, Lancelot beckoned to Merlin. "Come on," he said, clearing his throat and jerking his head toward the woods. "Let's get some firewood."

Merlin tilted his head curiously. It was a warm enough night; in fact, it might have made sleeping conditions almost uncomfortable if not for the gentle breeze. Everyone else was too busy getting the horses settled or laying out bedrolls to care that what Lancelot had proposed sounded odd. Merlin followed him curiously into the woods.

Once they were out of earshot, Lancelot rounded on him. "What's on your mind?" he asked, bending over absently to pick up a decent-sized branch. "I didn't want to ask when the others were around, in case... you know." He shrugged one shoulder. "In case it was about magic."

"It is, actually," said Merlin, capturing his friend's undivided attention. "It could be nothing, except... Enora is a major refuge for unwanted druid children. It's where they grow up if their parents find out they can't do magic."

"And you think that has something to do with the disappearances?"

"I'm not sure what," Merlin admitted. "But don't you think it's a little weird? All the villages in Camelot, and the one that happens to be in trouble right now is the one full of druid outcasts?" He didn't mention that he _knew _something connected to magic was either going wrong or soon to go wrong.

Lancelot considered this. "It's not just Enora, though, is it? Arthur said something about a neighboring village."

"Burich," Merlin said with a nod. "I asked him about it after the meeting. It's a few leagues east of here."

"Maybe it's close enough that it could still be connected," Lancelot suggested thoughtfully. He'd still only picked up the one branch. Merlin crouched low and gathered a small armful; they might as well add substance to their cover story, even if it didn't make sense in the heat.

By the time they returned, bundles of branches weighing down their arms, the others had settled down and had time to adjust to the logic that firewood wasn't necessary on a night like this. "We can use it tomorrow," Merlin pointed out like he'd planned it this way, "if we catch something in the woods. Then we'd have more than stale bread for dinner."

"And you went to fetch it now out of pure foresight and good faith in our hunting abilities," said Gwaine skeptically, sitting atop his bedroll with his arm balanced on a knee.

"Faith in _your _hunting skills," Merlin corrected with a grin to distract him. "Besides, I owe you one for firewood. You risked the wolves once for me, I figured it was time to repay the favor." He dumped the branches in the middle of their camp before anyone else could argue. Gwaine watched Merlin curl up in his own bedroll before shrugging and sliding down into a sleeping position.

"He can't have guessed anything important," Lancelot breathed to Merlin as they settled down. Merlin nodded, aware that Gwaine was sharper than he appeared, but also reasonably hopeful that he would never guess exactly what he and Lancelot had been talking about.

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><p>Enora in daylight was somewhat less miserable to behold than Enora at night. With the clamor of daily life - children laughing and playing, mothers shouting, farmers chatting as they tilled the fields stretching over the north side of the village - it was easy to overlook the state their houses were in. Merlin knew poverty, for Ealdor was hardly any bigger or more extravagent than Enora, but at least most people had a half-decent roof over their heads, even if the food in their stomachs lacked at times.<p>

It was easy to seek out the ones who had been directly affected by the disappearances. They were the ones who were most subdued.

Merlin and Gwen approached a woman with graying hair, whose eyes were trained forlornly on the piece of cloth she turned over and over in her hands. She started when Merlin cleared his throat, fumbling the pale green material and scowling.

"What do _you _want?" she asked rudely, snatching the cloth from the ground and curling it tightly into her fist, hiding it from them. She might be older, Merlin thought, but she had bite.

"We don't mean to bother you," Gwen assured her kindly. The woman remained unimpressed. That was a blow; if one look from Gwen didn't melt her heart, then they had a tough job ahead of them. "We were wondering about the people who have gone missing. Do you know any of them?"

"Look around you, girl," barked the woman. "Everyone here knows everyone who's gone missing. So what if I happen to know one of them a little better? What difference does it make?"

Gwen winced visibly but remained strong. "Maybe you could help us to learn why-"

"I don't know anything," the woman insisted harshly, standing suddenly. "If you're so desperate to talk to someone, go pester my husband. He's in the field. Ask for Ronin. And don't bother me again."

But while Ronin was much more pleasant to talk to, he had little more to offer than his wife. "Sorry 'bout Helena," he apologized with sincerity. He leaned heavily on his hoe like it was a walking stick. "She hain't been quite herself since they took Frieda."

"Is that your daughter?" asked Gwen at the same time Merlin asked, "Who are 'they'"

Ronin answered Merlin first. "Don't know, do I? If I did, I wouldn't right still be here, would I? When they took my little girl-" he nodded toward Gwen "-they might as well o' taken a knife to my heart." His wrinkled face twisted.

"I'm sorry," Gwen told him gently. "How - how old was - is she?"

The small slip seemed to have gone over Ronin's head. "This is her sixth summer," he whispered. "Tell me what cruel bastard would take a girl of six years?"

Gwen's heart looked to be breaking with the man's, and Merlin hated to see someone else's pain, but there was something else that wasn't right. "Six years," he said slowly, and stared at Ronin's hair, even grayer than Helena's. "I don't mean to be rude, but how can you have a daughter who is only six years old?"

He knew the moment the man realized what he was saying, but instead of looking affronted, Ronin appeared to quail under threat of the question. "Stranger things have happened," he said finally, staring at his feet. "'Scuse, but I should be getting back to w-"

"She's not really yours, is she?" Merlin demanded, excitement building even as Gwen stared at him in confusion. "You took her in."

Ronin looked around guiltily. "Well - I - yes," he admitted, going faintly red. He added passionately, "But she's as good as our own, I'll have you know! We... we do our best, me and Helena. Frieda don't know she's not our daughter. She's been ours since before she could walk or talk."

Awfully early, Merlin thought, for her parents to have given her up. But then, he suspected druids had a way of knowing early on whether their children would grow to be adept with magic.

"Was there anyone who would have wanted to take her for some reason?" asked Gwen, putting a hand on Ronin's elbow and all but begging him to meet her gaze. He shifted uncomfortably, a symptom Merlin knew all too well to be associated with lying. "Anyone at all?"

"None that I can think of, my lady," he said, catching her eye for a millisecond and then avoiding it like the plague. It didn't work, because his sight lighted instead upon Merlin, who was frowning distinctly at him to mask the odds and ends of what he'd known before and the bits and pieces of what he was learning now all flying about in his head. Ronin cleared his throat. "As I said. Best be getting to work. These crops won't plant themselves." He forced a smile.

"But-"

"Thank you for your help," Merlin said overtop of Gwen's objections. She looked at him and tilted her head. She might not have found anything worth knowing out of their little conversation, but Merlin had learned all he needed. At least, he had learned all this man could provide.

Ronin took his hoe and returned gratefully to the field. "Come on," said Merlin, gesturing in the direction of camp.

"Maybe the others have found out more," Gwen said. They had all gone out in groups; Lancelot, Gwaine, and Percival, Elyan and Leon, and Merlin and Gwen.

"I'll bet," said Merlin, "that if they happened to ask the other families of the victims, they'd have found out the same thing as we did." When Gwen appeared blank, he added, "I don't think any of the victims were born in the village."

"What makes you say that?" asked Gwen incredulously. "One family's situation doesn't have to reflect upon the rest. Why would anyone go around kidnapping orphaned children? At least, I assume Frieda was in orphan. Why else would Ronin and Helena have taken her in." She bit her lip. "He didn't seem keen to talk about it, really."

Merlin sighed. No, Ronin wouldn't have been keen to talk about it, not if the truth would earn him a one-way trip to the pyre. He was going to have a merry time trying to get to the bottom of this without anyone finding out _why _the disappearances all involved children whose parents in Enora weren't really their parents at all.

He couldn't know for sure, not until he had a chance to talk to the other families. Most of the questions he wanted to ask would have to be asked in private. He was determined not to be the reason that a system that had worked in the village for years would suddenly go down in flames - all too literally.

But if he was right, then it was as he had feared; it was no coincidence that all the disappearances had taken place in or around Camelot's secret refuge for druids. The real question he would have to face - and in regard to this one, he had no idea - was _why_.

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><p>Things to come (but not necessarily in the next chapter): Whether Merlin's suspicions are right, and why or why not. A vaguely sympathetic but still stubborn in his views dragon. Confirmation that destiny sucks, especially when it gets ripped in half and turned in on itself.<p> 


	6. Someone Helpful

This is, ah, very much _not _within two weeks of the last chapter. It's been a busy few weeks, between a week-long trip to Minnesota (which, by the way, was loads of fun!), my sister having her baby 8 weeks early (because she's terrible at going full term; he's okay, though, and he's coming home soon!), and other assorted appointments and excuses. This is also quite short.

Apologies for the fact that the story itself has been kinda slow, something I aim to change starting... the end of this chapter. xD I hope you enjoy! Either way, let me know! Reviews are love :)

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><p><strong>Chapter Six: Someone Helpful<strong>

"We didn't learn a _thing_," Elyan greeted Gwen and Merlin when they sat down in camp. They and Leon were the only ones who had returned so far. "Well, except that Adeldreda may or may not be a princess on the run, and it's more than likely that Warin has bedded everyone except his wife and possibly his sister. The woman we talked to was a right gossip."

Merlin suppressed a snort. Gwen's giggle was badly stifled. Even Sir Leon warred with a smile and lost. "It sounds like you had as much luck as we did," said Gwen. "Perhaps a bit more fun, though. All we could find out was that the parents of one of the girls who disappeared aren't really her parents after all."

"More than we knew before," Elyan shrugged. "Marian was more interested in telling us about whose husband ran off with who than what happened to her son. Never mentioned anything about anyone having a ward, though. Must not be scandalous enough for her."

That, or she didn't want to draw attention to that particular subject, Merlin thought. He made a mental list of people he needed to talk to later, which so far included Theda and Marian.

Gwen didn't bring up Merlin's theory about all the victims sharing similar backgrounds to Frieda. That suited Merlin just fine; he was already regretting mentioning it to Gwen in the first place, but as long as he didn't bring it up again until he was sure and had some sort of excuse, it would work out.

Lancelot, Percival, and Gwaine had similarly negative results. "I think I'd like to meet this Marian," said Gwaine with a gleam in his eye.

"She's married," Leon informed him. "Quite happily, if she's to be believed. We didn't get her husband's opinion on it. Had he been there in the first place, I doubt he'd have gotten a word in edgewise. I have my doubts that Warin's wife would complain, though. She must get lonely."

"Oh, well, she's got that sorted," said Elyan dismissively. "Don't you remember? Marian said..."

They sat like that for a solid hour, Gwen accusing Marian of being a wretched woman even while she laughed at every story Elyan told, Leon adding things here and there. Gwaine held to it that he needed to meet Marian before they left.

"Her husband can hardly be _that_ happy," mused Percival.

"If nothing else, I expect he won't be," said Elyan slyly, "once he figures out that Marian isn't Warin's wife _or _his sister."

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><p>It was the middle of the night, which to Merlin's displeasure was developing into a habit. The sliver of a moon hovered at its apex, providing very little light. Thankfully Theda's house was close to camp, and Merlin had no difficulty finding it.<p>

The village was silent, and Merlin winced as he opened the door. The creak was like a small explosion to his ears. He hoped to God all his friends were heavy sleepers.

He didn't know exactly what to do once he was inside. He didn't know where Theda slept, and barging into her room seemed very forward. But how to...?

"Stay where you are," hissed a voice in his ear, but the words were made irrelevant by the cold blade of a knife pressed at an angle against his throat.

"Theda," said Merlin, trying very hard to speak without moving his throat. He was unsuccessful. "It's me, it's Merlin. Don't worry." The blade was taken away, and he heard a sharp exhale behind him. He followed suit. "I have something I want to ask you. Things, actually."

"In the middle of the night?" she demanded. "Why not last night, since you were here anyway?"

Merlin turned to face her. "I didn't want to ask them in front of the others."

Theda's weary face grew suspicious. Merlin noticed she hadn't actually put the knife down. "What kind of questions would these be, then?"

"The kind you're not going to want to answer," Merlin admitted. "But you have to trust me. I know you have no reason to, but I swear, I'm only trying to help."

Something of his sincerity must have shown on his face, because after a long while, Theda set the knife down on a table - still within reach - and said, "Fine. Ask me what you will, but I won't promise any answers." She gestured for him to sit down. He found the outline of what he guessed was a chair and felt his way into it. She sat across from him.

"Your son... sorry, what's his name?"

It sounded so delicate and dear on her tongue. "Pepin."

"He's not really your son, is he." He said it as gently as he could, but he still failed to form it into a real question.

Though he couldn't see her face, he could as good as sense Theda's suddenly rigid posture. "Of course he is my son!" she said with such passion Merlin almost felt guilty. He forced himself to remember it was in her best interests. "He is my son, and I love him."

"But you didn't give birth to him," said Merlin. "He may be your son in every other way, but I _need _to know... are you really his mother? And if you're not, where did he come from?" He received no answer. "Theda, I already know the answer," he pressed. "I'm not going to tell anyone. I just need to hear it so I don't have to second guess it anymore."

For a long time, Merlin thought he might not get an answer at all. He closed his eyes and pleaded inwardly for her to cooperate, to say _something_.

Then: "They came to me one night, while everyone else was sleeping."

Merlin's eyes snapped open. "Who? The Druids?"

"I don't understand how you-"

"It doesn't matter," he said quickly. "How do they know who they can trust? No, never mind, that doesn't matter, either. The children who've been taken - were they all from the Druid camps?"

"Yes, but... not all of them were children. There was a man. A farmer. He grew up in a Druid camp, but he and his sister left them a few years back. She went to Burich to marry some handsome boy she took a fancy to not long after she came to Enora. I hear she's gone, too."

He'd been right. Everyone who'd disappeared had come from the Druids. _Why, _though? he wondered frustratedly. Even Uther, who hated magic, mor or less left the Druids untouched so long as they were well away from him. Who would target them, and for what?

He asked, but it was no surprise when Theda couldn't answer.

"Thank you for your help," he heard himself say from a distance. She didn't respond, and he took that as the perfect cue to leave.

The triumph he might have had for figuring this out by himself and getting it right was dulled considerably by the fact that he still hadn't technically gotten anywhere. He didn't have anyone to ask next, unless he sought out the Druids themselves to ask if they knew anything. They couldn't be far; he could even go tonight if he really wanted.

Beyond the village and its fields, they were surrounded by trees on all sides. He wouldn't even know where to start. He could try, though, and he could always say he'd come back later if he thought it was getting too close to morning once he found them.

His body changed direction without his permission, and he was now marching toward the trees past Theda's house instead of camp.

He made it about halfway before he felt it.

It hit him like a tidal wave. One second he was strolling easily through the village, the next, the world wavered and he was sent crashing to his knees, hands flying to break his fall.

He knelt on all fours, trembling as nausea rolled mercilessly over him. He blinked once, twice, and the third time found he was looking at the world from a new angle. All he could see was a vast stretch of dew-covered grass, grass he was quickly losing the ability to feel.

_Not here, _Merlin begged someone that he hoped was watching over him, but whomever it was didn't adhere to his demands. He thought he really might vomit, at least if he found the energy somewhere.

He tried to yell for someone, but all he managed was a weak, pathetic croak, which in the end was what did him in.

His last thoughts before succumbing were _I _have _to stay awake_ and _What the hell is happening?_

In failing to do the former, he would realize when he woke again much later, he discovered the quickest and easiest way to get all the answers he needed for the latter.


	7. Somewhat Responsible

I'm kind of proud of how quick I finished this in comparison to other chapter :P This has actually been done for a couple of days, but I wanted to wait. Tomorrow is, sadly, the first day of school (ohhh, _so _not ready). I'll try not to let that affect updating. I guess it depends on the homework load! Shouldn't be too bad the first couple of days, right? -wishful thinking-

Also, I'm officially (eep!) splitting my time between this and a new Merlin fic or two, which again hopefully won't affect anything too much. Enjoy the chapter, let me know what you think, and have a wonderful day! :)

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><p><strong>Chapter Seven: Somewhat Responsible<strong>

Gwen knew right away there was something wrong. She opened her eyes to find only Elyan and Percival for company. Percival was assembling Lancelot and Merlin's stock of twigs inside a ring of stones. Her brother was sitting at her side with his arms around his knees. Had he been waiting for her to wake up?

"Elyan?" she said sleepily, looking around for a sign of the others. "What's wrong? Where are the others?"

He started at her voice. "Gwen!" Then he turned serious. "The rest are all out looking for Merlin. He was gone when we woke up this morning."

"What?" Gwen cried, scrambling to sit up. "What do you mean, gone? Why did no one wake me?"

"We didn't want to worry you," Elyan said, stilling her with a hand on her shoulder. "Lancelot was the first one up, he was in a panic when he found out Merlin had gone. He took Leon and Gwaine to find him, but he said someone should stay behind so you wouldn't worry when you woke up."

So much for not worrying. Her best friend was missing, in a village reputed for having people disappear lately. "Why the fire?"

At this Elyan looked grim, but Percival beat him to the answer. "We ought to prepare for anything," he said simply, and his words fell like a pit into Gwen's stomach.

"How long have they been gone?"

Elyan glanced up at the sky. "Less than an hour," he said, "but since we don't know how far- that's them!"

His shout sent Gwen leaping to her feet. She covered her mouth at the sight; Gwaine and Lancelot each had a hold of Merlin, carrying him awkwardly between them. Leon strode quickly ahead of them.

"He's unconscious," he said, interpreting Gwen's look of horror as a question. "He has - I suppose the opposite of a fever. Gwen, you have helped Gaius in the past. Whatever you know of herbs and remedies, it's more than the rest of us can offer."

"I know a little," said Elyan cautiously, before Gwen could protest that she didn't know near enough. She looked at her brother in surprise. "Traveling on my own so much, I had to learn some. There wasn't always a physician to go to."

Or a way to pay one, Gwen thought reprovingly, because she knew for a fact Elyan had returned to Camelot with no wealth to his name. Most physicians weren't as sympathetic, or indeed as fortunate as Gaius. Most did not live in a castle, and had to pay their way for everything. Camelot was lucky, having a physician who would not demand payment.

"Perhaps the two of you should check his condition," said Leon.

When Gwaine and Lancelot caught up, they laid Merlin carefully on his bedroll. Gwen knelt by his side, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. She knew immediately what Leon had meant; he was cold to the touch, unnaturally cold. Her hand moved to his cheek. His face was paler than normal.

Elyan leaned in. "It looks like he's breathing okay. He's not hurt at all that I can see. Other than being unconscious, there's nothing wrong with him."

"He's _freezing_," said Gwen.

"Yes, well, I'm not sure if being cold counts as a symptom. Some people get cold. He hasn't got a fever, obviously, his heart's still beating, he's breathing, and there aren't any wounds. I'm not sure what we can do for him."

"It's not even autumn!" she exclaimed. "Of course people get cold, but this... this doesn't feel like that."

Elyan shrugged helplessly.

To say Gwen was scared was an understatement. Her friend was unconscious, and she had no idea why, or what was wrong with him. Elyan could say all he liked that there _was _nothing wrong, but if that was true, he would be awake. He wouldn't have fainted twice - nearly three times - in the last few days. He wouldn't be so pale, so _cold_.

"Perhaps the fire will warm him up," suggested Percival reasonably. He gathered Merlin in his arms with ease and moved him closer to the flames he'd managed to produce.

He was so still, his dark hair sticking to his alabaster skin from the dew. It brought back dark memories for Gwen, of a goblet laced with poison and the servant brave enough to drink it for his master. They hadn't even been friends then.

Lancelot looked particularly bothered about something. He was watching Merlin, but his eyes were far away. Gwen wanted to ask, but somehow she knew he would prefer if it were left alone. Merlin had given that same impression, dodging her questions about why he cared that Ronin's daughter was in truth his ward.

"We need to find someone in Enora who knows more than we do," said Gwen. Her hand was still on Merlin's cheek, but for different reasons. "I know it won't be the same as having Gaius here, but surely someone here must know something about ailments. He hasn't felt well for days, he's clearly coming down with something."

"I feel he's past the 'coming down' stage," pointed out Gwaine dryly. "I'll go. Why pass up a chance to meet the lovely women of Enora? If I'm lucky, perhaps Lady Marian will be of some assistance."

So be it if she is, thought Gwen. "We'll figure out what to do," she whispered to Merlin, stroking his hair. He twitched slightly, and she wondered if he could hear them at all. "Please, please wake up."

* * *

><p>In fact, Merlin couldn't hear a word anyone was saying to him. He was busy with other aspects of reality, which pertained to be did not take place in Enora. He was learning very fast that the heart of the problem had little or nothing to do with Enora itself.<p>

It surprised him when he first found himself standing outside a modest hut in the forest. The last thing he remembered was setting out to search for the Druids. That hadn't ended well, had it?

To add to his confusion, it was daylight, which was very contrary to what he remembered. He would've assumed he'd been unconscious all that time, but he had been standing already when he found himself here. It was the most bizarre feeling in the world, finding oneself in a different time and place with no explanation as for how one got there.

It was more bizarre, however, whne the door of the hut opened and Morgause walked out.

She looked tired. That was the first thing Merlin noticed after the initial shocked of seeing her here faded. There were bags forming beneath her eyes, and lines threatened her face.

"Hello?" tried Merlin. Morgause ignored him.

He waited for Morgana to appear, but it seemed in this instance Morgause was alone. She stood outside the door for a minute, waiting for something, then apparently lost her patience. "Stop dawdling!" she snapped loudly. "I told you, we're going on a little trip today."

A small child appeared in the doorway, rubbing one eye. "I don' feel like it," he whined tiredly. Merlin stared; did Morgause have a _son_?

"Come, Pepin," she coaxed, holding out a hand, "we're going to do magic today."

Pepin peered up at her, wide-eyed and innocent, his sleepiness gone. "Magic?" he said in awe. His words were slow and deliberate. "Mother says I can't do magic. She says it's not allowed. She says I couldn't, anyway. How come we can do magic now?"

_Pepin! _Merlin reeled. Of course! That was the name of Theda's son. He knew without a doubt that this was him. "Pepin, you need to get back to your mother!" he shouted, but the little boy took no heed.

With a sinking feeling, Merlin decided it was time to accept the obvious. He wasn't really here, and they could neither see nor hear him.

"_I _can do magic," said Morgause, taking his hand in hers and beginning to lead him down a recently trodden path. "And you're going to help me. You're going to do something very special."

"But magic isn't allowed," repeated Pepin, frowning.

Morgause smiled thinly down at him. "It is here."

Pepin continued to frown, as if he didn't quite understand the exact concept of "here." Merlin guessed he had no idea he wasn't in his own kingdom anymore, and that he probably didn't understand what that even meant.

Knowing he was in no danger of discovery, Merlin followed close behind the two of them. It was obvious that someone had gone this way quite often, and not long ago. The underbrush was flattened, and if Merlin had been in physical form, he doubted even he could have tripped too many times.

They eventually came out on the other side of the trees. This wasn't Enora, that was for sure. In fact, though he had never been this way before, Merlin decided it was a safe assumption that this was across the border and into Northumbria.

"See," said Morgause, squeezing the little boy's hand, "magic is allowed here."

She brought them to a stop near a large circle in the grass, made by a ring of carved symbols. Merlin crouched down to get a closer look. He only recognized some of them; most of those were to do with life and healing.

That was the last thing Merlin had expected to see. He once more inspected the bags under Morgause's eyes. Had she been enduring sleepless nights because she cared for the wellbeing of a child? Someone _else's _child? It would have been very humbling, except for one thing. There was nothing about Pepin that appeared to _need _healing.

"Go on!" Morgause ushered Pepin into the ring. Since first losing her patience at the hut, Morgause had been exuding an almost motherly attitude toward the boy. That intensified now as she stood just outside the symbols, Pepin now positioned somewhere in the middle of them.

"What am I in here for?" Pepin's big brown eyes marvelled Morgause's, and they were full of confusion. "What's all that stuff mean?"

Morgause sighed. "With any luck, it means you get to be a hero," she said, and that was the gentlest she had been with him so far, yet it set Merlin's nerves on end.

Then she raised her arms and recited, to Merlin's utter horror and bemusement, "_Forpousendan to sé swelgh_." _Send forth to the rift._

At first, no one except Morgause understood. And then, for a split second, all three knew too well.

A fierce whirlwind, much like Merlin had seen sorcerers use to transport themselves elsewhere, appeared in the circle. Pepin cried out the way only a child can, at first in fear, and then perhaps in pain. Merlin lunged forward and tried to do something - anything - but even if he wasn't too late, far too late, it would have been useless. It all happened so fast - one second Pepin was in the circle, the next... gone.

At the same time, Merlin was hit by a pain worse - or perhaps just different - than he'd ever felt. Apparently life didn't give a damn that he _didn't even have a real body _at the moment, because it tore at insides he didn't have and sent his consciousness reeling.

He knew this was to blame for what he'd been feeling all week, and now he knew where all the missing persons of Enora had gone.

But knowing that didn't stop it from bloody _hurting_.

_What happens now? _Merlin thought desperately, because he didn't have a body to pass out in. Could a consciousness on its own go _un_conscious? That sounded very, very bad, but he had a feeling he was about to find out.

But first, even through the pain, he made an observation and a connection. First, Morgause looked far from delighted about what she had just done. She brushed away what might have been and empty tear and cursed in the Old Religion. Perhaps _at _the Old Religion, as well.

Second, and Merlin really hated to think that he'd actually become used to interpreting the dragon's riddles, there was something Kilgharrah had said that came back to him without warning. _"You seek the one who causes the disappearances, but her actions are an effect as much as they are a cause."_

And then he found out exactly what happened when a renegade consciousness went unconscious.

It fled back to its body and woke up.

* * *

><p>ACTUALLY, <em>forpousendan to sé swelgh <em>means "send forth to the chasm," but I wanted rift and Old English didn't have that, so I improvised. Ah, languages.


	8. Something Prophetic

**..._I am so sorry_.**

**I know it's short, but it's something, and there's, like, plot. And again, _I am so sorry._ Thanks a million to the readers who inspire me to keep going (even when it doesn't look like I'm going to)!**

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><p><strong>Chapter Eight: Something Prophetic<strong>

With the feeling of a drowning man finding the surface, Merlin felt the moment he returned to his body. His eyes snapped open; his gasp was echoed by someone behind him. He sat up, and his head swam, nearly sending him back down.

"Merlin? Are you all right?"

He blinked hard to clear his tunnel vision. Gwen moved so that she was sitting in front of him, and the first thing he saw was her concerned face.

He took a few moments to ponder the question. His first instinct was to say _yes, I'm fine, _while his better judgment wanted to say _no _and lie down again. He settled on, "I think so, yeah."

No one else was around apart from him and Gwen. Perhaps it was ungrateful of him, but Merlin wished it was Lancelot rather than Gwen who had been waiting for him when he woke up. He was itching with the urge to tell someone what he'd witnessed, and Gwen was not the right person.

The handmaiden assessed him quizzically. "You have to stop doing that," she chided with a small smile. "Everyone's worried about you. Look, I spoke to the others, and they've agreed it might be best if we left earlier than we-"

"No!" said Merlin. "Not until we have something to take back with us. Give me one more day, Gwen, and I can figure out what's going on. I learned something last night, something important."

A new voice said, "Is that right?"

Gwen screamed. The air around them twisted and shimmered until Morgause appeared in the tattered dress and cloak from Merlin's vision. The lines on her face were even more pronounced when seen through physical eyes.

While Gwen scrambled for a weapon - she laid hands on a knife within someone's pack - Merlin sat in a good imitation of calm. He had a sneaking suspicion that Morgause wasn't here to hurt anyone. At least, not to hurt _them_.

"I knew I sensed someone there," she said airily. "I couldn't imagine who it would be, but magic leaves traces, and led me to _you_. Who would have thought? Even with your reputation for meddling, I never once suspected."

Any sense of calm fled with its tail between its legs. Merlin didn't dare move a muscle - not even his lungs to breathe - as if by moving, he would give himself away.

"Merlin?" Gwen's voice shattered the illusion. He heard the fear and uncertainty in it. He thought of the way she'd looked when she realized Morgana was a traitor, and he prayed he wouldn't see that look again now. "Merlin, what is she talking about?"

He couldn't answer; he couldn't even bring himself to turn his head her direction. It was so much easier to address the enemy.

"What did you do to that little boy?" he demanded, aware that the authority in his voice was somewhat undermined by the fact that he had to crane his neck to see her. Not sure if it was smart or not, he cautiously got to his feet. He didn't immediately fall over, which was all he'd hoped for.

Morgause regarded him wearily. "If you have magic, you should be bowing to me for what I'm trying to do. The boy's sacrifice was regrettable, but it will matter very little if I can't find the one that works."

"_Regrettable_?"

Guinevere had never sounded so angry. Even Morgause looked taken aback as she observed the fury that had overcome the normally soft-hearted girl's face. She held her knife up in a warning position, though Merlin knew she would never use it unless provoked. On the other hand, if looks could kill...

"You're the one who's been kidnapping children? And you _sacrifice _them?"

"Do not condemn what you don't understand," Morgause snapped. "I do not enjoy taking innocent lives, but I know what is necessary, and I will do whatever I must as High Priestess to protect the Old Ways. I would not expect anyone from Camelot to appreciate such a concept."

"Morgana is from Camelot," Merlin pointed out. His eyes were on Morgause, but he kept glancing peripherally at Gwen. He hoped none of her fury was directed at him.

Morgause's expression darkened, leaving Merlin bemused. He had always thought the two sisters were too alike to quarrel. It appeared he was wrong. "Morgana does not see the gravity of the matter as clearly as I do. All the more reason for me to act as quickly as I can. This is a prophecy that cannot be fulfilled."

"Prophecy?" Merlin echoed. From what he'd seen of destiny and prophecies, they weren't things to be trifled with. Moreover, they were not easily evaded. He should know; he'd tried.

She brushed her hair behind her shoulder. "Yes, boy. My sister is not the only one with the gift of Sight. There are others, though it is a rare gift. It was not so rare, however, in the Priestesses of old. I am the only one who remains, but thankfully that is not an issue that magic cannot remedy. Those Priestesses who have passed on can communicate with the living when there is a need. And there is _certainly _a need." She narrowed her eyes. "Magic is dying. The Old Religion is collapsing at the seams."

Merlin felt sick again, but not in the same way he had when he fainted. "What do you mean? What exactly did the Priestess say?"

Morgause looked away from him and locked eyes with Gwen instead. She engaged the dark-skinned woman in a staring contest until Gwen lowered her trembling arm that wielded the knife. "'Into the Rift shall magic fall,'" Morgause recited, "'to destroy its bearers all. To close it give it what it covets; not the one with magic, but of it.'

"Magic is being consumed by this _rift, _whatever that may be. I have felt it in my veins with every sacrifice I make. You see, girl, I have not stolen from Enora for my own pleasure. Each child - or indeed, adult - is one born from parents who have magic, but was not deemed to possess it himself."

"The Druid castaways," said Merlin.

"Very good," said Morgause wryly. "It has done no good. The only way to close the Rift is to send someone born from magic to the other side, yet this is what I've done, and I still feel magic leaving the world."

Again Merlin could barely keep himself from feeling sorry for her. It was horrifying to think of what she was doing to those children - but he almost understood. He'd felt it, too, every time one of those children was sent to the other side and were lost to the void. Their deaths had not closed the Rift; if anything, they'd made it wider. Merlin's pity for Morgause washed into anger.

Gwen voiced his feelings for him. "And after the first one didn't work, you thought you'd keep trying?" she demanded. "They're _children_. They're _human beings_. I don't care what's at stake, you can't destroy an innocent life because you want to believe the next sacrifice will be the one that works!"

"The _one_," said Merlin. "You said the _one _of magic. Not someone, _the _one. It's someone specific."

"Does it matter?" cried Gwen. "Whether it's the right person or not, it's not someone else's decision to make!"

She was right, Merlin agreed. And yet... bringing back magic was his _destiny. _He was _Emrys_. It went against everything he stood for to let magic fall into an abyss of nothingness.

"Perhaps there is only one person who can stop this," agreed Morgause. "Perhaps there is someone more important to the Old Religion who can satisfy what this _Rift _is looking for. Whoever it is, I am determined to find him - or her."

And then she was gone.

There was a long silence that Merlin wished could have stayed longer. He was determined not to say anything until Gwen forced him into it.

Gwen did just that. "Merlin, tell me she was wrong. About... you."

He didn't want to look at her, but he had to. He revolved slowly on the spot, dread pitting in his stomach even as a million other emotions battled in response to what he'd just heard. Gwen regarded him as though he were a stranger, and not a pleasant one. Her lips were parted, and her brow was furrowed. She looked ready to back away at a moment's notice. The thought hurt.

"Gwen," he whispered, not knowing what else to say.

It was answer enough. "I... I need to be alone for a while," she said, and left him at a swift walk.

Merlin watched her leave, afraid that he had lost a friend and hating that that wasn't even his biggest problem.

* * *

><p><strong>Admittedly not my best work, but hey, I'm rusty after six months. I'm still not sure I remember what's goin' on. <em>But I will not abandon this thing, dang it! <em>Even if nobody's reading anymore!**


	9. Something Unthinkable

...It was a shorter wait than last time?

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><p><strong>Chapter Nine: Something Unthinkable<strong>

Luck, for once on Merlin's side, made Lancelot the first person to return.

"Good to see you awake," the knight said warmly, pulling Merlin into a brief, one-armed hug. "You collapsing isn't good for anyone's health." He looked around, forwning. "Where's Gwen? She said she'd stay with you."

Merlin sighed. "Can we talk about this somewhere else?"

They walked around the outskirts of the village, and Merlin told Lancelot everything, from the moment he collapsed to his encounter with Morgause - the live one as well as the dreamlike one.

"So Gwen knows," Lancelot said when he finished.

Merlin sucked in a large breath and nodded.

"And she didn't take it well." The knight stopped walkng, and so did Merlin. Lancelot watched two children wrestling in the grass, his eyes distant. "Do you think she'll tell Arthur?"

Merlin winced. "I don't know. I don't think so. If she does... I don't know what I'll do."

He didn't believe kind-hearted Gwen was capable of sentencing a friend to death, but if she told Arthur, he couldn't blame her. He hated lying to his best friend, but years of secrecy kept his mouth shut. Gwen wore her heart on her dress sleeve. Merlin hated to think of the position she'd be in, facing the man she loved every day and trying not to look guilty every time he denounced magic.

Without meaning to, Merlin was making Gwen choose: loyalty to her friend, or to her lover. Merlin knew what that felt like. In a fit of passion, he'd nearly thrown everything away for a girl he'd barely known.

Considering that, he might as well write himself off as a goner.

Merlin cleared his throat. "Never mind that now. I think we've learned all we can from Enora. Morgause's prophecy is all we're likely to get."

"We have to tell Theda about her son," Lancelot reminded him quietly.

Merlin sighed, the little boy's face fresh in his mind. "I know."

Morgause may not be their problem for now, but Merlin swore one day she'd answer for the innocent lives she'd tossed to the wind. It was no wonder Gwen couldn't look in the eye, when people like Morgause took magic and twisted it into something grotesque.

It seemed impossible to Merlin that magic could just be _dying. _What did that mean for him? To not feel that warmth curled inside him, to never again feel it surge to his fingertips... He shuddered. It would be worse than death.

Then again, he was _made _of magic. If magic died, who was to say he wouldn't just die with it? Already he felt every disturbance in the Rift, sent into unconsciousness whenever someone was sacrificed to it. Could Morgause have made it _worse _in her misguided attempts to fix it?

While he and Lancelot made the much-dreaded journey to Theda's house, Merlin turned Morgause's words overi n his head. _Not the one with magic, but of it. _He could at least see how the druid children had made sense to the witch. Born of magic, yet with none of their own, they fit the prophecy perfectly. Yet _the _one had to mean someone important, perhaps someone significant to the Old Religion. He dismissed himself as an option immediately. Of magic he might be, but he was also very much with it.

With the many times he picked apart the prophecy, a terrible interpretation of it began to form in Merlin's head. He tried to use logic to disregard it, and upon failing that, resolutely pushed it to the side instead. He had enough to worry about without allowing his mind to go down that path.

Theda ushered them inside before either Merlin or Lancelot even opened his mouth. It was a much better greeting than the knife; Merlin almost wished she wasn't being nice to them, though. It almost made it harder.

"I have vegetables fresh from this morning," she said, offering a plate of radishes and cabbage leaves. She set it on the table in front of them, and neither moved to take any. Her face fell a little. "Look, I know it's probably too soon to ask, but have you found anything about my son? I... it's all right if you haven't."

"Theda-" The words stuck in Merlin's throat. He looked to Lancelot helplessly.

"Theda, maybe you should sit," Lancelot suggested gently. A look of dread crossed the young mother's face as she wordlessly did as he said. Lancelot reached across the table and took her hand in his, squeezing tight.

"He's dead, isn't he," she said, looking the knight in the eye.

Lancelot nodded.

Her fears confirmed, Theda retrieved her hand from Lancelot so she could cover her face. "Oh," she whimpered from behind her hands. The sobs didn't take long to start.

Lancelot stood and walked around the table; he knelt and put his arm around Theda. Shaking, she turned and buried her face in his shoulder.

Merlin watched, unable to say or do anything. When Theda, between bouts of tears, asked what else they knew - how, who, why - Merlin told her the gist. A witch, a spell, they weren't sure why. The last part was a lie, of course, but he couldn't tell her. Even if it wasn't a dangerous topic for himself, he couldn't bear letting her hear the twisted thinking that had led to Pepin's death.

No less than an hour later, their hearts heavy, Merlin and Lancelot returned to camp.

Everyone was finally all in one place. They sat around a crackling fire as Merlin gave another edited recap of what he'd learned from Morgause. He left out the prophecy, of course, which made it sound like Morgause was murdering children for the fun of it. He didn't particularly feel like defending her, but it still left him feeling strangely guilty. Gwen met his eyes once during the story and looked away just as quickly, refusing to acknowledge that he was even speaking.

"That's _sick_," Elyan said when he finished, echoing his sister's earlier sentiments. He'd been polishing his sword, and his hand rested of the now gleaming weapon still in his lap. "She can't be allowed to get away with this."

"Morgana wasn't with her?" Percival noted thoughtfully. He stroked the growing stubble on his chin, staring at the fire, lost in his own musings.

Merlin looked around at each of the knights in turn. Their indignance and their thirst for justice was plain to see. Elyan's hand did not move from his sword; Leon's face, normally tranquil, was thunderous. Gwaine's, too, was unusually dark. Only Lancelot and Percival seemed calm, and Merlin knew it was only because they were able to look past the surface of the matter - Lancelot because he knew more, Percival because it was his nature to look at things more closely than others.

"I know you all want to go after Morgause," Merlin said. Everyone looked to him, sensing the "but" in the future. He delivered. "But she's probably long gone by now. She can travel with magic, after all. Arthur gave us a week to investigate, and it's been nearly that. We've done what we came here for. We know who is behind the disappearances, and we know the victims can't be helped." He swallowed. "The best we can do is to tell mothers to take extra caution, maybe have their children sleep with them. Other than that... I think it's time to head home."

_If only it were that simple, _he thought. If only he could convince himself that all of this ended with Morgause and Enora.

His lie served its purpose, though. He waited for objections, but none came. Lancelot voiced his approval, and Leon nodded slowly. Part of Merlin still reveled at the fact that he could tell knights of Camelot what to do, and they would listen - or at least not throw him in the stocks.

"We should report to the prince what we know," said Leon decisively. "He can send out a patrol to find the witch and make her pay for her crimes."

Meanwhile, Merlin had some serious investigating to do.

He hoped it wouldn't yield the results he feared.

* * *

><p>Merlin didn't think Arthur had ever looked so relieved to see anyone.<p>

The prince came racing down the steps the moment their seven horses trotted into the courtyard. Gwen dismounted into his waiting arms, smiling for the first time since she found out about Merlin's magic as he kissed her on the cheek.

"Going to greet the rest of us like that?" Merlin teased, swinging his legs over the horse's back and dropping to the ground. Arthur scowled without any hostility.

"And to think, I'd almost forgotten what it's like to have your constant chatter following me around," he said. "Now I remember: it's irritating."

Merlin grinned. "Good to see you too, Arthur."

He noticed Gwen regarding him almost studiously, frowning. Her eyes shifted from him to Arthur as though looking for something. After a moment to consider it, Merlin realized what it was.

As the others untied their packed and carried them into the castle, Merlin leaned close to Gwen's ear and whispered, "Nothing's changed, you know. He's my friend. I'm not going to hurt him."

Gwen jumped, eyes widening for a fraction of a second. She looked like she wanted to say something, but she changed her mind and hurried after the others, leaving Merlin feeling somewhat dejected on his own, pretending she was going to come around soon.

* * *

><p>Kilgharrah settled himself into the ground, where Merlin was sure he was going to leave an imprint if they kept meeting like this. Merlin tried to ignore how these conversations with the dragon wreaked havoc with his sleeping schedule. It was difficult when he knew that Arthur was liable to bully him with extra vigor tomorrow to make up for the week he'd been gone.<p>

"The witch may indeed have been too hasty in her assumptions," the dragon said when Merlin related the past week's events to him. "However, she understands the gravity of the situtation. Magic cannot be allowed to die, Merlin."

"But I don't know what the prophecy means," Merlin said desperately. "You said yourself you didn't understand why Morgause had to do what she did. You must have had some idea what the prophecy said. You told me before that I had to make sure magic returned."

The dragon shifted his wings. "Indeed, young warlock. I knew danger approached, though I did not from where it would come. Now that you know what threatens the Old Religion, you have all you need to save it. You cannot tell me you do not understand the prophecy's implications."

Merlin waited for a long time, hoping Kilgharrah would not make him say it, hoping he would provide a different answer. He hadn't even broached this topic with Gaius, afraid of what the old man would say. A pit of panic formed in his gut as he was suddenly forced to think about what he'd tried to avoid. "There's only one person I can think of that fits," he said slowly. "But it can't be. That's not how it's supposed to go."

He waited again, but the dragon did not speak, merely blinked his large, ancient golden eyes ruefully. Merlin clenched his fist.

"_No_," he insisted firmly, shaking his head.

"I am sorry, Merlin," Kilgharrah said sincerely. "For magic to survive, you must make this sacrifice. It has always been your destiny to save magic. You cannot deny your duty."

"_Arthur _is my destiny," Merlin replied heatedly. "You said so. You told me I had to protect him, give him the chance to become king and unite Albion. _He _is supposed to bring magic back."

"And he will. His death will seal the Rift."

Merlin felt his stomach roll and bile rise to his throat, and for once it had nothing to do with the Rift itself. He couldn't be asked to do this. He couldn't _do _this.

The dragon reared in the familiar take-off stance. "None of use can choose our destiny, Merlin," he said, throwing his own words in Merlin's face in retaliation for Merlin doing the same thing. "And none of us can escape it. The Once and Future King, born of Nimueh's magic but without any of his own, must be sacrificed, or else magic will perish and the Old Religion will fall. It is up to you, Merlin. I truly am sorry."

He flew away, leaving Merlin alone.

Merlin sank to the ground and sat cross-legged, shivering. Hadn't it been warm just a few nights ago? Where had that gone?

_None of us can choose our destiny. And none of us can escape it._

Arthur was his destiny. At the time, the thought had seemed terrible. What had he said then? _If anyone wants to kill him, they can go ahead; in fact I'd give them a hand. _Yet here he was, five years later, and such a thing was unthinkable.

Arthur and magic were his destiny. To keep one, he'd have to give up the other. Magic, he knew, was part of the world. The world could well end if it was lost. Yet the world seemed like it should be obligated to end if Arthur died, too.

_No matter what happens, magic must return. _

Merlin pulled his knees up to his chin, feeling like a lost little child alone in the woods. He fell asleep that way hours later, when he'd finally drained all his energy from crying.

* * *

><p>Another thanks and apology to my readers! Again, I promise I won't abandon this! You can expect another few chapters :)<p> 


	10. Someone Trusting

GUYS GUYS GUYS. It's been less than a week. New personal record?

Also, why do people always wind up crying and/or hugging in things I write?

Speaking of hugs - hugs for all the kind reviewers! Y'all are the best :)

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><p><strong>Chapter Ten: Someone Trusting<strong>

Gaius took barely one look at Merlin before he said, "Sit." It sounded like an order. Merlin obeyed, going one step further and laying his head on the table.

Like magic, a bowl of steaming broth was produced and placed inches from his nose. "Eat," Gaius commanded when Merlin didn't so much as twitch.

Merlin raised his head and picked up the spoon. He proceeded to twirl it around the broth without any signs that he might take a sip.

"May I ask what has you wandering back here so late in hte morning, looking like you've just risen from the grave?" Gaius inquired, eyebrow raised in question.

"The only way to close the Rift is to sacrifice Arthur," Merlin said bluntly.

That stunned the physician into silence.

Merlin had awoken stiff and sore on his own in the forest. The weight of what he now knew hadn't left him during his dreams, and it certainly wasted no time assaulting him in the waking world. He'd briefly considered running away, never returning to Camelot, not even to explain. Gaius could work it out for himself. Everyone else could assume him dead and move on.

And yet, because of fate's sick humor, Merlin was too used to the idea that he wasn't allowed to leave Arthur's side. He had to be near enough for protection at all times.

"I assume Kilgharrah offered no alternative," Gaius said quietly.

Merlin shook his head, unable to bring himself to answer. What alternative could there be? He'd asked himself that the whole way back to Camelot. The prophecy was specific. This wasn't something Merlin could do in Arthur's stead. This time, there would be no room for the words _"I willingly give my life for Arthur's."_

"So what are you going to do?"

Another impossible question. Was there no end to them? "What can I do?" Merlin countered, a tad petulant. "I can't do it, Gaius. Even if I wanted to, I don't remember the spell Morgause used. Yet the longer I sit here and do nothing, the more magic is swallowed by the Rift. I can't let that happen, either. No matter what I do, I can't—"

He broke off, his eyes and throat burning. He looked away, ashamed at how often Gaius saw him like this, breaking down and falling apart.

He jumped slightly when he felt the old man suddenly enter his personal space. Gaius engulfed him in a hug, pulling Merlin tight against his sholder with a hand at his back. Merlin's eyes stung anew as he considered all the times Gaius had comforted him with such an embrace. He realized suddenly that he'd never hugged his guardian on an occasion when the world wasn't ending.

"The world has not been fair to you, Merlin," Gaius murmured in his ear. "All these burdens and choices should never have fallen on such young shoulders. If I could bear it for you, I would, though I fear I would not manage half so well as you."

"I don't feel like I'm managing very well at the moment," Merlin said in a half-whisper, since it was all he could manage.

Gaius pulled back enough to offer him a small smile. "You are still able to cry," he said. "Believe me when I say how strong that makes you. Very few in your position would retain the heart or the sanity necessary to shed a tear."

* * *

><p>As predicted, Arthur went out of his way to pile more chores than actually existed onto Merlin's to-do list. It didn't help that it wasn early impossible for Merlin to respond with his usual grumbling—not when he knew what he did—and Arthur kept squinting suspiciously at him, trying to figure out what was wrong. Such scrutiny almost always resulted in an extra chore.<p>

He didn't escape from the prince until after darkness had fallen, at which point he was exhausted to the point of keeling over. He did not allow himself such a luxury, however.

He knew it was useless, but he didn't know what else to do with himself. Thus, Merlin found himself sitting in a sea of books pulled from the gloomiest corners of the castle library, each with varying degrees of legality. The older-than-dirt magic book in his hand was most certainly not one he would survive getting caught with, but he felt fairly confident no one would enter his room.

Someone knocked on the door.

Suffering several different types of heart failures at once, Merlin nearly fell of his bed. "Ah, just a second, I have to—"

"Merlin? It's me, Gwen."

Merlin almost fainted from relief; he had no idea how he could have explained himself if anyone else had opened the door. "Come in," he called weakly.

Gwen's eyebrows went up as she surveyed his room. "I had no idea you were librarian," she commented. Her eyes fell on the book in his lap, the curly, faded, foreign writing on the cover a dead giveaway to its contents.. "Oh," she said flatly. "Are these all books on—on—"

"No," Merlin said quickly. "Well, I mean—_sort of_. But they're not all mine. I'm just, I'm... researching."

"Researching magic?"

For some reason, the accusation in her voice pricked at Merlin's nerves. "Gwen, we've been friends since the day I arrived in Camelot. I've been alone with you, alone with Arthur, _alone with Uther _about a thousand times since then. If I'm an evil sorcerer hellbent on destruction, I must be pretty awful at it, because last I checked, all three of you were still alive and Camelot was as un-destroyed as ever."

He noticed Gwen starting to smile, and some of his irritation faded. "What?"

"Un-destroyed?" she repeated.

Merlin grinned sheepishly, and Gwen burst into giggles. When the laughter faded, the tension, though still present, wasn't quite so thick anymore.

"Does this mean you're not afraid anymore?" Merlin asked. He couldn't help but notice that she was still standing close to the door - in other words, as far from him as possible. He gestured vaguely toward the area of bed that wasn't occupied with books or himself. Gwen hesitantly migrated closer and sat, glancing sideways at some of the many titles. Merlin hoped she didn't happen to see _The Crafte of Dark Magick. _He almost hadn't grabbed that one, but he'd figured he might as well use every reference within reach.

"I was more upset than afraid," Gwen admitted. "Actually, I suppose I was both. I _know _it doesn't make sense that you could mean us harm. You've had so many chances to hurt Arthur, and you haven't, not once in four years. But Morgana—" She bit her lip and looked away.

"But Morgana was here for fifteen years before she did anything," Merlin finished. Gwen nodded almost imperceivably. "I dont' know what to say to convince you that won't happen to me. Honestly, I've always thought that if I ever had to explain myself to someone, it would be Arthur."

Gwen smiled at the prince's name.

"All I can do is promise. I care about you, and Arthur, and all my friends. I might not care particularly for Uther, but I'm not about to put Arthur through the pain of losing his father."

"I didn't tell him," said Gwen. "Arthur, I mean. But Merlin, I think you should. Haven't you been friends long enough to trust each other?"

"I do trust him," Merlin replied. "With everything that won't get me killed."

"That's not what I call trust."

"You couldn't even look me in the eye until five minutes ago," Merlin pointed out. "No offense, Gwen, but that's not very trusting, either. If you felt betrayed, how do you think the son of Uther Pendragon is going to feel? He's hated magic his whole life. Not to mention, it's his kingdom Morgana tried to take."

None of this even mattered, Merlin thought miserably. If he went through with the prophecy, Gwen wasn't likely to believe he was an innocent, harmless warlock. In fact, he'd convince all of Camelot once and for all that magic was pure evil. Magic would be saved, but it would never be free.

With that realization, it became even more official: there was absolutely no way to win.

"...Sure he'd be willing to—Merlin? Are you even listening?"

Gwen's voice called him back to reality. "S-sorry," Merlin stammered. "I got distracted is all. What were you saying?"

She gavce him the sort of look he'd only ever associated with his mother. "Gaius told me you didn't sleep well last night," she said. It was half a truth; he'd actually spent the night in a forest talking to a dragon. "You should get some rest. I'm sure whatever you're researching can wait until tomorrow."

He smiled wanly. It couldn't, really. But no matter how hard he looked, he probably wouldn't find an answer anyway. For a man who couldn't afford to give up, he had a very bleak outlook on his chance of success.

"I will," he promised. _Eventually, _he didn't add. "So, are we...?"

Gwen sighed and stood up, straightening a particular stack of books that was leaning dangerously at the edge of Merlin's bed. "It's a lot to get used to," she said. "I... I still need time to think. But Merlin, I know you're not evil. I've seen you risk your life for Arthur a dozen times. I know you'd never hurt him."

There wasn't much she could have said to make him feel worse.

Briefly Merlin wondered how much harm it would cause if he let Gwen in on his dilemma. He dismissed the idea just as quickly. His magic was one thing; no matter how he explained himself, he would never be able to make her understand how or why, exactly, he was now forced to contemplate sacrificing the very man he'd sworn to protect with his life.

"I'd sooner die than hurt him," Merlin said softly. Gwen smiled and departed, unaware that despite how genuinely Merlin believed that, he might not have a choice.

Despite Gwen's orders, Merlin did not rest. Hours later, a candle still burned on his nightstand. The books were no longer in neat stacks, but rather hanging open in random spots about the room. He'd finally—reluctantly—picked up _The Crafte of Dark Magick. _Many of the books he'd flipped through were quite similiar in content; he figured that if nothing else, the book of dark magic would present new material and maybe a change of pace.

It was _foul_. Merlin's overtired mind was even more sensitive than usual to the horrific things the pages described. Spells to boil someone from the inside out, curses that caused the victim unimagineable pain for every word they spoke, and—worst of all to Merlin, who shuddered at the very prospect—even a spell to strip someone of their magic. He slammed the book shut, imagination working into overdrive even as his eyes drooped.

He'd continue his search tomorrow, he told himself tiredly, clearing enough room to lay down and dropping like a bag of stones against his pillow. A whispered word blew out the candle. He watched the smoke curl lazily upward, wincing as he remembered how the spell to boil a man's insides could eventually leave the skin steaming and smoking.

His dreams were far from pleasant that night.


	11. Somehow Possible

I was silly and got a job, and now work eats my life a bit. Forgive me? I've got a pretty solid idea of how the next couple of chapters are going to go, at least. There are only two or three left. Thank you to all my loyal readers who have stuck with me even through all the random hiatuses! For some reason I'm incapable of writing long chapters anymore, sorry about that...

Enjoy! :)

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><p><strong>Chapter Eleven: Somehow Possible<strong>

For about the sixtieth time, Merlin yawned.

"_Will you stop it?_" Arthur seethed, glaring at his manservant as his shot once again missed the target completely. Gwaine snickered as he did every time Arthur missed, which may have accounted in part for the prince's irritability. "I don't know what it is you do all night, Merlin, but I suggest you give it up in favor of what the _rest _of us do when it's dark, which is _sleeping_."

Gwaine leaned over and whispered something in Elyan's ear, causing them both to smirk. Merlin hid a grin, imagining all too well where Gwaine's mind had gone.

"Maybe I'd get to sleep earlier if I didn't have so many chores to do," Merlin shot back.

"Maybe a more competent servant would actually get something done during the daylight hours," countered Arthur. He nocked another arrow in his longbow and drew back, concentrating hard on the bullseye. Another overwhelming urge to yawn overcame Merlin, and he gave into it at the same time the prince released the arrow. It flew straight over the target.

Merlin cringed inwardly.

Arthur lowered his bow. "By all means, Merlin, if the noise of my arrows whizzing past the target is keeping you awake, don't hesitate to go where it won't bother you."

"Oh, but then you'd have nothing to blame it on," Merlin said seriously. Gwaine laughed.

Merlin had gotten up before the sun to continue his research. It hadn't been worth the grogginess was enduring as a result; three books and an annoyed Prince Arthur later, and he was no closer to finding a third option. That was a problem, considering his position on options one and two was a firm, polite _no_.

Still, it was always easier to be optimistic in the morning. It would have been even easier with a tad more sleep, but Merlin was determined not to let that bother him. He could sleep when he found a solution—which he _would _do, even if it killed him.

Arthur shot off another arrow before Merlin could get around to yawning obnoxiously loud to distract him. It hit to the right and above the center by a good few inches; Arthur was deadly with any weapon, but the longbow wasn't his specialty.

The prince glared at the target. "It's distracting enough that I _expect _you to distract me," he complained. "Go spar with Lancelot. Anywhere I can't hear your squalling is fine."

Making a face, Merlin trudged away from the archery area to where Sir Leon and Lancelot were showing a range of nobles' sons how to wield a sword properly. Thus far, the crop of future knights seemed about as adept with a blade as Merlin was. Which was to say, they'd clearly not been training long.

When Lancelot saw him coming, he told Leon, "I'll be back in a minute," and he steered Merlin away from the group.

"How's Gwen?" he asked without preamble. "About... you. She seemed so shaken up the other day. Have you spoken to her at all?"

"I think she's better about it. She doesn't seem to think I'm a curse-weaving savage, at any rate. It's a start. I guess I could hardly expect her to leap with joy, finding out her friend's existence is treason."

Lancelot smiled sadly. "No, you couldn't. I'm not leaping with joy about it either, Merlin. I'm sure it's nothing compared to what you go through, but it's not easy wondering if I'll ever have to watch another knight tie you to the stake."

"You get used to it," Merlin said, shrugging it off the best he could. "Maybe I should try that spell in the book I found, then none of us would have to worry about it."

"You've been searching a lot, then? Looking for a way to fix... this?"

Merlin yawned to supplement his nod. Well, that, and he genuinely needed to. "I've got nothing. I've found all sorts of awful things, though. If there's any doubt in Uther's mind that magic is evil, it would be gone in an instant from one glance at this one book I went through. There's a spell to make your heart pump faster until it, um... explodes. Who would_ use _that?"

"Any one of the sorcerers that's tried to kill Arthur recently, for a start," Lancelot pointed out. "What's the other spell you mentioned? The one that would keep us from having to worry about your execution? I take it it's not from the same book."

"It is actually." Merlin shuddered. "It strips a person bare of their magic. I suppose it's really one of the less violent spells in that book, but... not for me. I am magic. I don't know what I'd be if it was gone, or even _if _I'd be. Still," he added with a weak smile, "we certainly wouldn't have to worry about Uther executing me."

"Not as much," Lancelot agreed. "At least you wouldn't risk using it and getting caught. That's not to say he wouldn't execute you if he learned somehow later that you used to practice magic in his kingdom. He'd still consider you a traitor for being born of magic, even if you didn't have it anymore."

Merlin's mouth turned drier than dust.

He was so, so _stupid_. Or tired. Either way, it was unforgivable for him to miss it at a time when every minute counted. He'd had his answer since last night, and he'd been too blind to notice.

Frantically working past the sluggishness in his mind, he forced his way through the details. Yes, it matched up perfectly; more so even than the magic-less Druid children, he was born directly of magic, born as much a child of the Old Religion as one of his mother. That part was perfectly obvious, had been since he'd heard the prophecy.

Now he could work with the other part of it, too.

This wasn't exactly the sort of things he'd had in mind when he was looking for a way to save Arthur, but it would do. It would have to. He had no other feasible way out.

Lancelot frowned, peering at him closely. "Are you all right? You look pale."

"I'm fine," Merlin managed. "I... I think I know how to save Arthur. I've got to talk to Gaius about it, though."

The knight brightened and said something, but Merlin's ears were ringing too much to hear what it was. He mumbled some goodbye and practically ran across the training grounds to get to the castle.

He knew what he had to do, and now he had to figure out exactly how to do it.

* * *

><p>"Gaius, I need you to do a spell for me."<p>

"For heaven's sake, Merlin, you could at least close the door first!" Gaius chastised him. "Next time, check to see if I'm with a patient before you burst into the room shouting about magic which, may I remind you, no one is supposed to know you have. Now, what is this about me performing a spell?"

"That's just the thing," said Merlin. "I won't have magic. Not for long, anyway, not if this goes like it's supposed to." Seeing the perplexity on Gaius' face, he elaborated. "I think I found a way to save Arthur without destroying the Old Religion. It's not going to be easy, but I think if I do it right, it might be possible."

"I'll believe anything's possible if you are the one reckless enough to try it. Go on; what spell do you need my help to cast?"

Merlin took a deep breath. This was the part he wasn't sure about; he had to give up his magic, but giving up his magic was useless if he couldn't do the spell to open the Rift. "Do you remember how I told you about Morgause's spell? If at all possible, I need you to cast it for me. I won't be able to."

"Why is that? What did you mean, you won't have magic for long?"

Gaius hadn't been this interrogative since the first day they met, when Merlin saved him using magic but without uttering a single word. It pained Merlin in several different ways to think of all the things that had led them from that point to this one.

His guardian would not be happy to hear this. He never liked to let his ward throw himself into the kind of danger being Arthur's protector involved. However, he needed to know before Merlin could get anywhere.

So Merlin told him. "There's a spell that... can take away someone's magic. If I use it on myself, I can take Arthur's place. It can't be me right now because I'm with magic as well as of it, but if I took that part of me away..." He gave a little shrug.

Gaius opened his mouth as if to say something, but he made not a sound. Merlin watched him fight with himself, battling the horror of the implications and the logic behind the plan. He had to concede that no matter how much he disliked the outcome, this was truly the only way.

"I don't know how you became so brave, Merlin," he murmured at last. "You certainly didn't learn it from me. There does remain one problem, however. I cannot perform the spell."

"What!"

Gaius sighed. "Your faith in me is once again misplaced. The spell you described to me is one far out of my reach. You forget I am not half so powerful as you, the legendary Emrys, or even Morgause, High Priestess of the Old Religion. I would never succeed in such an endeavor."

Crushed, Merlin began to feel the weight of helplessness—so much heavier than the weight of realizing you were going to die —begin to descend on him again swiftly.

"That being said," Gaius continued gravely, "I think I do know a way this could still work."

By the time Arthur stormed into their chambers screaming for Merlin's blood, they'd concocted a plan. For as much as Arthur was acting like a prat and for as badly as this was going to end for himself, Merlin prayed to God this worked.

* * *

><p>I know some of you guessed this; this was the plan all along.<p> 


	12. Someone Gone

Readers - I love you. That is all. Also, never ever let me start another chapter fic again, kay? Like, if I post a first chapter of something that looks like it's supposed to continue, yell at me at length. Tell me to go away. Remind me that I'm terrible at finishing things no matter how good an idea they seem to me at the time, kay? Thanks. And with that... the hopefully penultimate chapter.

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><p><strong>Chapter Twelve: Someone Gone<strong>

It was fundamentally weird to be setting up a circle of magic runes on Arthur Pendragon's floor, close to the place where Arthur Pendragon slept. Merlin's hands impressed him by staying still; he couldn't afford to shake for fear of an error in his artwork. He had exactly one chance to get this right.

Every time he heard footsteps outside the door, his heart leaped painfully to his throat. Arthur needed to be here, but not yet, which was why Merlin had timed this toward the end of training. He also had to trust that no one else would barge into the prince's room when everyone knew he wouldn't be there.

The circle was a triple-layered embroidery. The outside ring consisted of simple, thin lines that twisted likes snakes and entwined smoothly with one another. The middle layer comprised the actual runes, runes older than the magical language Merlin used for his spells, runes whose meaning was so dark it made him shudder. The innermost layer, the one he detailed now, was an elaborate series of decorative symbols that were not themselves magical but were nonetheless required for the spell to work.

It was these symbols that caused him the trouble. Merlin sat back on his haunches, comparing his own drawing to that of the book in his hand. There was one section that he'd smudged a little with his hand, but it would have to do. He'd spent too much time on the long, sweeping strokes of the outside layer, and now he had to hurry.

"_Scæne þes woruldríce_," said Merlin, one hand holding the book open, the other hovering over the circle, "_scæne to sé swelgh_." The black symbols flared briefly, searingly gold, and Merlin squinted until it faded. The magic had worked.

Now came the part he was really not looking forward to. Well, one of them. However, he had to wait for Arthur on that account, so for now he could—

"Merlin?"

Merlin closed his eyes and counted softly to five. This was not part of the plan.

However hard he wished for her to turn around and leave him be, Gwen still remained standing, mouth open, in the doorway. How had he not heard the door open? This was _not _part of the plan.

Gwen's eyes—brown and confused and betrayed—had of course found the now-that-he-thought-about-it sinister-looking symbols he'd drawn on the floor. "What is that?" she demanded, striding forth for a closer look that Merlin really didn't want her to get. "Merlin, what are you doing?"

Merlin wasn't an idiot. He knew how this must look. There were very few positive reasons a sorcerer might be performing serious spellwork on the prince of Camelot's bedroom floor.

"Gwen, I can ex—"

"You said you wouldn't hurt him." Merlin winced at the accusation in her words - in every part of her. This was a thousand times worse than when he'd been outed as a warlock. "I _believed _you. You're exactly like Morgana, aren't you?"

"Gwen, _no_—"

Her eyes watered. She looked ready to run. To flee or to find Arthur, Merlin wasn't sure which. When she did turn as though to bolt, Merlin dropped the book, caught her wrist, and spun her around to face him. Her terrified, tearful face cut him like a dagger. He moved his hands to her shoulders, feeling how she trembled beneath them.

"Please," she whispered, "please, don't hurt him. Please, let me go."

On pure faith, Merlin did, raising his hands in surrender. "Gwen," he said gently, "I _promise _you this isn't how it looks. It's—Arthur's life is in danger, all right? I'm not trying to kill him, I'm trying to save him. I swear it on my mother's life."

Gwen took several deep breaths, in and out, slow and purposeful, until she calmed down. "Okay," she said in a small voice. "I believe you. I mean, I'd _like _to believe you. But your eyes were so like..."

"Like hers," Merlin finished. "I know. I understand why it's hard. I can't blame you for not trusting you, but you're going to have to try."

It occurred to Merlin that this was the last time he would speak to Gwen. Her last memory would be of the time she thought she'd caught him in act of murder. He'd kept his goodbyes to Gaius as light and brief as possible, but he couldn't quell the emotion he felt knowing he couldn't _really _say it to the rest of his friends. He couldn't bring himself to tell them what he meant to do. Gaius would explain when he was gone.

Unable to bear the thought that only his death would restore Gwen's faith in him, Merlin pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, burying his face in her hair. She emitted a muffled squeak before awkwardly hugging him in return.

"Merlin," she said into his shoulder. "What exactly is this for?"

Merlin pulled away quickly and cleared his throat, hoping his voice would sound normal. "Sorry," he said. "It's just, you know, a thank you. You wer the first friend I had in Camelot, and you've always been there when I needed someone. So... thanks."

She smiled uncertainly. "Of course. You... You've been my best friend for years. I'm sorry I..." Her smile faltered.

"No, no!" Merlin said quickly. "I'm glad, really. Arthur needs someone who won't trust others with the blind spots he has. It's not wrong to question your friends if there's something worth questioning." He _really _hoped she was done questioning, though, because Arthur would be here any minute.

Gwen bit her lip. "If it's all right then... could I stay? To see the spell work? I've never seen _good _magic."

Underneath her words, Merlin heard the desire to make absolute sure he wasn't lying. He sighed inwardly. At least Arthur would have someone to watch his back when Merlin was...

He knew how to get rid of her, though he hated to do it. He hardly wanted his last interaction with his friend to involve deception, but he couldn't let her _stay_. He couldn't let her see.

"Of course," he said. "Actually, Gwen, could you do me a favor? I forgot the other book I needed for this part of the spell. Could you get it for me? Gaius knows which one it is."

She hesitated, but not as long as he had. "I'll be back, then," she said, and left. Merlin breathed a sigh of relief.

Arthur arrived not a minute later.

The prince's tunic clung to him in various places, stuck on with sweat. It was wrinkled, to, from a combination of the dampness and his chain mail. "_There _you are," he said crossly, beginning to undo his belt to relieve himself of the uncomfortable clothes. "Where the hell were you? _George _had to help me out of my armor, and I've said it before, but it needs saying again; that man is—"

Inevitably, even the famously oblivious Arthur Pendragon had to notice what was in plain sight.

"Merlin," he said, his tone completely transformed. "What. Is. _That_?"

Merlin wondered if Arthur had even come to the conclusion yet that Merlin was the one who did this. If not, then it wouldn't be much longer.

"I wish there was time to explain," he said heavily. "But there isn't. And I am so, so sorry." In all his years of working for the prince, he'd never once apologized to him. He'd never thought he would. Apparently, everything had its time.

With a sideways glance, the door shut itself. He heard the lock click. Arthur's eyes widened, and Merlin knew that he'd seen the gold, knew _exactly _what Merlin had just done, and now feared very much what was coming next. Typically, locking someone in a room didn't bode well for the person locked up. However, Merlin was less concerned with trapping Arthur in than with keeping others out.

Turning his back on Arthur—even as the prince drew his sword and started furiously spouting things along the lines of _What have you done with Merlin? _and _Give me one reason I shouldn't run you through! _- Merlin raised his hand to the circle and recited the spell Morgause had used: "_Forpousendan to sé swelgh_."

The dormant runes came to life as through struck by lightning. The Rift ripped wide open, so wide it was visible, or maybe that was only because Merlin meant to pass through it. It was like a curtain was pulled aside on a window, and through it he could see the storm raging beyond, a storm that was the only source of life in a world of vast, dead nothing.

Or, maybe not quite the only source. Scuttling around, half-visible, were blurs of red fur and evil eyes, an insect neither of nature or of magic, simply existing in the Rift. Merlin shuddered. Perhaps it had been an omen that one had fallen on his head.

"What...?"

Merlin tore his eyes away to look at Arthur. The prince was no longer ready to behead him in anger. Instead he was mesmerized, staring unabashedly at the sudden confined maelstrom. It wasn't horror in his expression; it was awe.

That was until it began to reach for him.

It wasn't a _visible _force. There weren't any sudden tendrils of lightning that stretched to meet him, nothing like that. However, it didn't need to be visible. Arthur had gone from stock-still to inching slowly forward, his boots dragging, as though he were being pulled. From the way his head dropped to look incredulously downward, and the way he looked to try and fight it, that was in fact the case. "What are you doing?" he shouted, trying to plant his feet, but the force was growing stronger.

Merlin panicked. "That's not supposed to happen!"

It was drawing him in, pulling at the thing it wanted. It didn't want to risk losing its prey. Well, Merlin would give it to them. Now was the time to trade his place in his destiny for Arthur's.

It had been Gaius's idea. Rather than letting his magic pour into the world—running the risk of pouring it straight into the void, where it would be no use to anyone anymore—someone had to take it. That was the purpose of this dark spell, anyway. Most sorcerers used it to steal magic. This one would use it to give it away.

And who better to give it to than the one who would benefit most? Now Arthur could be both parts of his destiny, if Gaius could teach him to use it.

Arthur really, _really _wasn't going to like it, though.

"_Ongirwan fram mec mín drýlác_," he began shakily, using the revised version of the spell he and Gaius and created. "_Ic éadan mín drýlác to Arthur Pendragon._"

It was as though claws were sinking into all parts of him, ripping at something that wasn't physical but could still be felt. It was _agony_, and he doubled over, clutching his knees and gritting his teeth against the pain. His eyes slid shut, and he heard grunts and whimpers that may or may not have come from him.

When it faded enough that he felt okay picking his head up, he dared to look at Arthur, who was no longer being dragged, but was instead examining his hands with a bemused, slightly panicked expression. Merlin couldn't blame him; they were glowing.

"I'm sorry," he said again, because he was. He was sorry that Arthur was going to have to either hide his magic from his father or try to explain it to him. He was sorry that he hadn't gotten to say goodbye to any of the knights. He was sorry that there wasn't time to explain how sorry he was.

He was sorry he was leaving.

The Rift was dragging _him_ now. He stumbled forward under its pull, but he didn't try to resist it. There was a pounding on the door, and Gwen's voice screaming something through it, but he couldn't pick out any words.

He wished he couldn't hear Arthur.

"Will you stop apologizing and start _saying _something?" he demanded, voice quicker and higher than normal. "Why am I—what are you—_Mer_lin—"

With a heavy sigh, Merlin looked at him one last time. "Just don't be a prat," he said, hoping that four years of memories and hope could somehow be conveyed through five one-syllable words. The sudden comprehension on Arthur's face said they might have done just that.

"Merlin," he said, "don't—"

That was the last thing Merlin heard before he stepped into the circle and the world dissolved around him.

* * *

><p>Sorry.<p> 


	13. Something Finished

**13. Something Finished**

For a long while, there was nothing except the awareness that there was nothing. The biggest problem with this, of course, was that to have awareness, there had to be something, which there wasn't. It was all startlingly impossible to comprehend.

So Merlin gave up trying to comprehend it.

After the long, unnecessary period of nothing, there was a much shorter expanse of time that included an experience that felt like the opposite of drowning. It was no more pleasant than its reciprocal, but instead of the water coming in, it was flooding back out. Figuratively, that is, since there was no water.

After that... Light.

Merlin worked quite hard to blink, found it to require too much effort, and promptly lost consciousness again.

No time seemed to pass before he was trying again, this time more successfully. He opened his eyes to blinding rays of light. He brought an arm up as a shield, noticing as he did so that it felt equivalent to lifting a ton of bricks.

Still blinded, he focused on what his other senses told him. Beneath him was a surface impossible soft; the air smelled sweet, like jasmine; he thought he heard a breeze.

"Avalon," he breathed.

Someone chuckled. "Not quite, I'm afraid."

Merlin sat up abruptly, groaned, and flopped back down. "How?" he mumbled easkly, cursing the way he felt markedly more aged since he'd last checked. "Is Arthur—don't tell me it didn't work. Gaius, tell me it didn't take**—**"

"It didn't take him," Gaius reassured him. "Not all of him, at any rate." Merlin observed, having finally adjusted to the sunlight flowing through open windows, that Gaius' face had new lines. He looked tired. Merlin suspected guiltily that he might be at fault for this. "It is safe to say it took considerably less from him than from you."

"Oh," Merlin said as though he understood, which he didn't it. Then— "How d'you mean?"

Gaius sighed. "When I said Arthur wouldn't appreciate taking on the burden of your magic, I never imagined he would be so adamant about it as to give it back. Especially not quite so spectacularly as he managed."

"He what?" Merlin yelped, his spirits raising as he realized what he should have immediately: He felt fine. More than that, he felt _whole_. His magic, by some miracle, was still there. In his euphoria, he threw his covers back with magic—or tried to. They twitched feebly, the color drained from his face, and he collapsed back onto the pillows, the whole room spinning around him.

When Gaius' face swam back into his vision, it looked torn between amusement and disapproval. "_However_," he said wryly, "despite the fact that it has returned to you intact, it has still endured a lot, having been ripped from your body and then forced into it again. You might consider what such unconventional circumstances might do to it."

"As in make it not work properly for a while?" Merlin guessed. "Yeah, I think I've got that now." He hesitated. "How's Arthur? Is he... angry?"

"He's coping."

Something about the way Gaius said that made Merlin think "angry" might be an understatement. He tried to visualize this from a perspective that didn't end in Merlin's slow, painful death, and in failing to do so, he conceded that Arthur probably had the right to kill him. It was one thing for a person's friend to lie about magic for years; it was probably a bit of another thing for that friend to pawn his magic off on him without a word.

An awful thought struck him. "He didn't keep any of it, did he?" he asked, horrified at the thought of how much worse Arthur's wrath would be if he still had a sliver of magic at his disposal.

"He can't have," Gaius said dismissively. "From what I understand of what happened, this wouldn't be over if he did."

"And what did happen?"

Gaius sighed and explained. "The Rift apparently required only the equivalent of Arthur's life force - or your life force, as it were, once you had rid yourself of your magic. It did not specifically need Arthur himself. When you stepped into the circle, the draining of your life force was almost instantaneous - but not enough so that Arthur didn't have time to react. I doubt it was at all intentional, but he reacted so strongly to watching your sacrifice - never mind everything else you put him through at the same time - that his magic lashed out, and when it did, it fled back to its original master. Arthur said later that you collapsed, and when he stepped into the circle to see if you were okay, he felt suddenly weaker. In short, the Rift took the majority of your life force, and when you and Arthur once again reversed roles, it took the rest of what it needed from him."

"He's all right, though?"

Gaius arched an eyebrow. "Merlin, I've just told you that the majority of your life force was taken, and you're worried about what little Arthur lost? He suffered the equivalent of a lost night's sleep. You nearly died."

"How do you know all this, anyway?" Hesitation. "_Gaius_."

The physician's eyes moved to the bedside table where a vase of flowers accounted for the smell of jasmine. There was a note folded up beside it. "Morgause left those," he said. "She didn't seem eager to stay after she investigated the runes on the floor."

_Morgause. _She'd helped them. Well, no, Merlin supposed; she'd only wanted to make sure there was nothing left to worry about. He guessed she must have felt it when the Rift closed. "Did she say anything else?"

"She hardly spoke at all except to answer my questions. It's, ah, it's probably best you didn't mention to Arthur that she was here. As far as the prince is concerned, all of my knowledge is based purely on observation."

It was doubtful that it mattered one way or another whether Arthur knew Morgause had been here. What was one more secret in the growing pool? And now that most secrets were out, why not bare all? There was little point in hiding anything now.

"Can I see him?" Merlin asked. "Although—I suppose he doesn't want to—has he said anything about me? He hasn't happened to tell you what he plans to do with me now that..." He gulped.

Gaius stared down his nose at him, a peculiar glint in his eye. "Merlin, have you even stopped to consider where you are?"

For the first time, Merlin allowed what his senses were perceiving to connect to something fluttering loose in his brain. The soft blankets, the open window that was larger than any given wall in his room, the jasmine flowers that didn't have to compete with the smells of brews and potions from Gaius' workshop...

"This is Arthur's room!" Merlin realized. "Have I been in Arthur's room the whole time I was - how long was I out, anyway?"

"Yes, and four days, in respective relation to your questions."

Bewildered, Merlin asked, "Where has Arthur been sleeping?"

"He has taken up temporary residence in the antechamber. The king is unaware of this, of course. Gwen has been serving him in order to keep any outside party from prying. As far as the rest of the castle is concerned, you are under the weather and everything else is as normal."

"Uh-huh." The enormity of what had gone on was threatening to overwhelm him. He was still mentally stuck in the immediate aftermath of doing magic in front of Arthur and of closing the Rift. For the rest of the world, life had gone on.

Gaius peered at him. "I bring up your sleeping arrangements, of course," he said, "because while Arthur has not said anything to me about how he intends to deal with you—" Merlin flinched "—I find it highly improbable that he has bothered giving up his royal bed for four days if he intends to throw you straight to the fire now that you're awake."

That did seem like a good sign, even Merlin's pessimistic side had to admit. There were other things too, little things that Gaius had said, which gave Merlin hope that his entire friendship with Arthur hadn't just shattered. Fractured, maybe, yes, but fractures could be healed.

* * *

><p>It took Merlin a long time to learn for sure whether his and Arthur's friendship was at all salvagable, because for a week, he didn't see Arthur at all. Gaius had moved Merlin back to his own chambers shortly after he'd woken up, confining the weakened warlock to bed rest until he declared otherwise. Merlin had spent most of his time flipping through some of the spellbooks he'd hoarded from the library, gratefully avoiding <em>The Crafte of Darke Magick <em>but discovering some borderline dark magic nonetheless. He learned to skim over anything that looked gruesome.

Occasionally he attempted to cast spells - none of the new ones he found; simple ones, old ones he could perform wordlessly - only to inevitably black out and hit the pillows. Just as inevitably, Gaius would berate him at length about the damage this was inflicting on his recovery, and Merlin would try to make him see that he couldn't _help _it, he had to check if it was any better, he had to hope that something had changed, or he'd be mad by the half moon. Heck, he was there already; he was stir crazy and losing his mind from frustration.

Gwen visited him. The knights, too, and they always managed to make him laugh, but Merlin mostly looked forward to seeing Gwen. Any trace of fear she'd had of him was gone, replaced by quiet admiration, which in turn faded until she looked at him the way she used to before she knew about the magic.

"Has Arthur said anything?" he'd ask whenever she kept him company. She'd bite her lip, and he'd know the answer.

"I'll talk to him," she always promised before she felt. "He'll come around, you'll see. He's not even very angry, I don't think... he just needs time."

After a week, Merlin was of the opinion that he'd had about enough time, thank you, and if he didn't show up soon Merlin was going to have to drag himself to Arthur's chambers and push the issue himself.

Only he wouldn't, because deep down he still fretted over what would happen when they finally did confront each other. Perhaps execution was still on the table after all - maybe Arthur was waiting for him to provide a sufficient explanation, and if he didn't have one, it would be off to the gallows, or worse, the pyre. If Arthur decided to arrest him, he didn't have a single hope of escape, not in this state.

Eight days after he'd woken up in the prince's chambers, Gaius returned midway through his routes with the news that Arthur was coming.

"How soon?" asked Merlin.

"Any minute," Gaius said, and left to deliver the rest of his potions.

The second the door closed behind him, Merlin frantically grabbed as many spellbooks as he could reach without getting up and shoved them under his bed. It was stupid - Arthur knew he had magic, so there was nothing to hide. All the same, he doubted it would help if the first thing Arthur saw when he entered the room was a small library's worth of spell material.

Arthur had the worst timing ever. He arrived at the same time Merlin decided recklessly to stretch far enough to grab _The Crafte of Dark Magick_. He misjudged the distance and, though he succeeded in touching his fingertips to the book's spine, he got no further before he toppled sideways off the bed with a loud _thump _and somewhat pained, "_Oof._"

He lay there dazed, blinking at the ceiling, trying to convince his body it would be all right if he got back up. He hadn't quite persuaded it before suddenly the world tilted and strong arms guided him - more like manhandled him - back into bed.

"You're even a buffoon when you're half-dead, I see."

Merlin's tunnel vision cleared to reveal a mostly exasperated, partly amused, partly something else Arthur Pendragon. It was the something else that made Merlin want to crawl into a hole and wait to die. Would have made him want that, anyway, if that wasn't already his base situation.

"What's so important that you decided to throw yourself at the ground, anyway?"

Merlin panicked quietly as Arthur leaned over and picked up the dejected book on the ground. His expression remained unreadable as he read the title. "Is this what you were trying to pick up?"

"A bit, yeah," Merlin said in a small voice.

"That's..." Arthur looked like he was struggling with himself. In the end he exhaled deeply and ran a hand through hair that seemed to have undergone such treatment quite a lot lately.

"You saved my life," Arthur said when Merlin had given up expecting him to say anything.

Merlin nodded. "I do that."

"You saved my life, and you've got a book of dark magic in your room." He laughed a little, as though something about that was funny, except his laugh didn't have any color in it, so it was more like he'd told a joke that he himself didn't actually appreciate.

"That's the book that told me how to save you," Merlin pointed out. He couldn't resist adding: "Well, it had a spell that helped me do it, anyhow. I figured the rest out myself."

"Of course you did." Merlin opened his mouth to protest, because he was pretty sure that was an insult, but Arthur made a vague jabbing motion with his hand that Merlin took to mean _shush_. "No, you just sit there and get comfortable, because I've had almost two weeks to come up with exactly what I want to say to you, and I won't have you ruin it by talking circles around the subject."

Merlin obediently fell silent, and Arthur disappeared into Gaius' workshop, reappearing with one of two rickety old chairs. He placed it as close to the bed as possible while still allowing leg space, on the end next to Merlin's head. He leaned forward, hands clasped.

"So," he said. "First things first. If you can't get that garish design off my floor, I'm putting you in the stocks until you die."

Nonplussed and completely taken aback, Merlin blinked stupidly while struggling for a more appropriate response.

"Furthermore," Arthur breezed onward without regard to his manservant's distress, "we need to do something about your hero complex. Facing a dragon with me is one thing, but really, this is getting ridiculous. Just what makes you think I want you to die for me? No, _don't_." He glared when Merlin opened his mouth. "No talking yet! Good grief, Merlin, I know you're terrible at following orders, but there is a line. Next is the subject of your compulsiveness to hide things from me. The next time something is trying to kill me, or the next time _you _consider killing me, I'd like a little warning in advance, rather than finding out about it afterwards, if you _don't_ mind.

"Lastly—here you go, this is the part you'll like—lastly, you'd better tell me everything, you enormous self-sacrificing idiot, from the beginning and without leaving anything out, and if you do and I find out about it, you will wish you'd never been born."

It was easier than Merlin had expected. He found that when he opened his mouth and began to let his deepest, most guarded secrets spill, stopping became unthinkable. He rushed and stumbled through parts of it, and took his time with others, depending on how much he remembered and how much it hurt to talk about. His voice cracked occasionally, from overuse and from other things.

Most of the time he kept his eyes fixed on his sheets, but each time he owned up to something he knew the prince especially wouldn't like, he forced himself to look Arthur in the face. His jaw tightened sometimes—about Morgana, about the dragon—but he never interrupted and he never did anything with the fist bound tightly at his side, which Merlin thought was probably more than he deserved.

And in the end it felt like someone had rolled a boulder off his chest, and there was something to be said for that feeling of a lifted burden, even if it translated to a growing pit in his stomach.

"You've done a lot of incredibly stupid things," Arthur observed. Merlin felt like he'd been kicked. Then he continued: "Nothing new there then, I suppose. And I suppose it has to be said that I've been pretty stupid myself."

"Oh, I don't know," Merlin said. "I'm not sure it _has _to be said. It's basically taken as read."

Arthur pinched his arm, Merlin yelped and scooted to the other side of the bed, and the throbbing in his arm suggested pointedly that this was a good sign.

"Not going to kill me, then?" he ventured with a hopeful smile, though the fact that he even dared to ask such a question was evidence enough that he knew the answer already.

"Not unless you keep lazing about in this bed," Arthur mock threatened. "I mean it, Merlin, you've got _three days _before I decide you're too useless to keep taking up all the air you waste."

Merlin grinned. "Understood."

* * *

><p>"I guess I was worried for nothing," Merlin thought aloud while Gaius bustled around his smoke-filled workroom, searching for the stock of hornbeam he'd gotten from traders a month ago, which he kept insisting under his breath that he'd "put it in <em>this <em>cupboard, I'm positive..." When Gaius had come home from doing his rounds and given Merlin a cursory look-over, he'd deemed it acceptable for the warlock to eat supper at the table. So far this hadn't happened yet, thanks to the hornbeam concoction that Merlin thought was too far gone to be saved.

"It went well, I take it?"

"He wasn't even angry."

Gaius halted in his fruitless efforts in order to raise his eyebrows at his ward. "No? I hardly wanted to mention it earlier, but he was positively furious once I assured him you would survive. He did his fair share of shouting, and I understand from the knights that training has been an absolute nightmare. The prince's aggression when he's angry is something to be passed on in legends, I'm told."

"Nobody bothered to tell _me _any of this!" Merlin exclaimed.

"No one wanted to scare you. It would seem it was not necessary for you to know. It would seem the collective harassment of every knight in Camelot was enough to get through to him. And by 'every knight in Camelot,' I am of course referring largely to Sir Gwaine."

Merlin frowned. "I thought we were trying to keep this secret?"

"It is a secret," Gaius confirmed. "Excluding Sirs Gwaine, Lancelot, Percival, Elyan, and Leon, as well as myself, Gwen, and the prince. There was only so much I could keep from them when they came to me in a flock demanding to know where you were and why Arthur is being - to quote Gwaine - 'a royal pain in the buttocks.' I assumed if anyone had the right to know about your predicament, it was the Round Table."

"And they've all had words with Arthur?"

"I believe Gwaine did not so much have words with him as threaten his life and, er, more private things, but yes, that is the general idea."

Merlin's heart swelled with gratitude for the knights who'd become his extended family of sorts since the foundation of the Round Table. He should've known they would have stood up for him if it came to this; he'd been too busy hiding things from them to consider that he might not have to. Gwaine, at least, he should have known he could count on to the death.

Eventually Gaius gave up and used the boiling vat of unfinished potion for the base of a stew, insisting that its herbal contents wouldn't kill either of them. Maybe not, Merlin thought as he forced spoonful after spoonful into his mouth, but that didn't mean it was pleasant.

Gaius had to help him back to his bed, since the art of walking had not returned to him yet. "Give it a couple more days," he said when Merlin whined about it. "There is a good chance something in that stew might serve to speed up the process."

Merlin collapsed gratefully into the mattress, which wasn't half as soft as Arthur's but still felt like heaven after having to stay upright in a chair for over an hour. He waited until Gaius bade him good night to do what he always did before he went to sleep: for the eighth night in a row, he pulled the note from Morgause from beneath his pillow and turned it over in his hands.

It was the last bit of the ordeal that had been plagueing him for a month. He'd gotten to the root of the problem, brought everyone out alive, and Arthur didn't even hate him for it, though he couldn't be sure how that was after what Gaius said. Once he read this final message, it would all be over.

In that case... maybe it was time.

He carefully undid the delicately (magically?) folded parchment, holding it up to the candle at his bedside so he could read the words printed in ink.

There weren't very many. The message was short and to the point, and even though it was slightly anticlimactic after all the time spent waiting to read it, it did at least have that sense of finality about it, and Merlin couldn't keep his lips from quirking up into a wry smile.

_You did well, Emrys_, it said. _Don't think that means I'm not still your enemy._

As if he would have expected anything less.

Satisfied, Merlin extinguished the candle with a puff of breath, rolled over, and went to sleep.

* * *

><p>Phew. Never thought I'd finish this fic. The anticlimactic letter may have been a metaphor for this chapter... I'm not really thrilled about it, if I'm honest, but I want some sort of closure on this story. Thanks a million to the awesome readers and reviewers who kept up with the story through a whole year of questionable update habits! I'm sorry I made you wait over and over again, but I'm super grateful to you all for your kind words! Extra special shout-out to <strong>Kitty O, <strong>who reviewed every single chapter. Oh, and **Laugh-Taffy the Grape, **you are totally the reason Morgause was in this chapter. ;)

Until the next story!


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